One Hundred Percent Legit
by Lilac Reverie
Summary: Letty and Javier have been ripped apart by cruel Fate. Will they ever be able to find each other again?
1. Chapter1

_**One Hundred Percent Legit**_

 _ **Author's Note:** here I go again. This story has absolutely NOTHING to do with my previous _Good Behavior _story "I Was Dreaming of Home". It takes off from the same point in the show, the end of Season Two, but in a completely different direction. As of this writing, they STILL haven't announced whether there will be any continuation; maybe starting this will give karma a poke._

 _Disclaimer: Good Behavior and all its characters belong to TNT._

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

After killing the lights and bringing the car to a long, silent, rolling stop, Javier sat in the driver's seat for several minutes, just looking and listening through the open windows. All was silent and still in the immediate area, though he could hear the impossibly huge cranes at work in every direction; the commercial port in Long Beach never shut down completely, even this long after midnight.

Finally, after deciding absolutely nobody was around, he got out of the car and stretched, then reached behind the driver's seat for the bag containing the large-ish final portion of their last brick of cocaine. He frowned at the brown paper bag as he tucked it into his jacket, then melted over to the utility box he'd marked as a good temporary cache and tucked it unobtrusively behind. He'd never liked the whole idea of moving and selling drugs, and would be unutterably glad to finish this once and for all. Even though they hadn't decided yet what to do next, Javier had no intention of getting more and continuing this trade.

Coke stashed, he looked around again and began walking on quiet, sneaker-clad feet towards the rendezvous point between the stacks of containers tucked under the shadow of the cargo ship waiting silently at the dock. He'd been told that the ship was loaded and ready to go as soon as they cleared the port; these containers were for the next one. Whatever.

Javier caught himself rubbing the ring on his left hand with that thumb for luck and grinned, the image of Letty sleeping quietly in their hotel room a few miles away making the grin broader as it always did. She'd barely stirred when he kissed her on his way out, but would wake eagerly when he got back, ready for a little celebratory action. He'd never known a woman so constantly voracious, ready for anything at a moment's notice; and she brought the same out in him, the only one to ever do so. The only woman to ever touch him, body and soul.

"Stop it, pendejo," he told himself sharply. "Pay attention to what you're doing, or you'll get yourself killed." Putting Letty firmly out of his mind, he stopped for a full minute in the shadows, watching and listening. Only when he was certain once more that nobody else was around did he continue, coming to the meeting place between the last two rows of containers a couple of dozen steps beyond. He put his back to the container wall and waited.

He was supposed to be meeting "Marco", an acquaintance of theirs who had assisted in setting up many previous sales, and who had made contact with someone apparently from the ship looming above. Why a sailor would be buying a small amount of coke for personal use rather than smuggling bricks in to sell, Javier didn't know, but Marco had sworn it was on the level. The buyer had made contact through a known informal network.

After several long minutes, he finally heard footsteps quietly approaching from the other direction, and Marco appeared around the corner of the container opposite, another man lurking behind. Marco grinned at Javier as he came closer, empty hands automatically out to his sides. "You are NOT gonna believe this," Marco teased, laughing slightly, then he turned towards the third man just coming into the light. Javier stepped forward out of the shadows to meet the newcomer, and then they both simply stopped and stared at each other, jaws gaping identically.

The third man was nearly a mirror image of Javier, even to his beard and brown eyes. He was a little shorter and a little stockier, but at a glance who could tell?

After staring and laughing at each other for a minute, the doppelganger pulled out his cell phone, unlocked it and tossed it to Marco, motioning Javier over to his side for a picture. Javi normally avoided having his picture taken – you never knew which one might turn into evidence – but this was certainly a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence which practically required documentation. He couldn't wait to tell Letty, and even pulled out his own phone for Marco to get a second shot. The two of them took up mirror poses, pointing to each other and laughing into the phone cameras.

The first bullet creased the top of Javier's head just as he was stuffing the phone back into his pants pocket, and he felt more than heard the second strike his double a beat later, just before the third slammed into his side. Only then did the sounds of gunfire from seemingly every direction sink into his recoiling brain, kicking it into high gear.

Staggering sideways from the bullet's impact, he smashed into the container wall and then automatically dropped to the ground, hopefully out of the line of fire. "What the HELL is going on?" screamed through his mind, but he had no time to try to figure anything out. Every frantic thought was geared to one idea: escape.

Scrambling on all fours, he made it to the corner of the container, then stopped, listening hard. Blood was running down his face and into his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. The sounds of gunfire and men yelling things – he couldn't make out what – was still coming from all directions; he couldn't make out a gap – and then he thought he did: to the right seemed quieter. He didn't dare try to stand up and make himself a target again; he staggered along in a half-crouch, trying ineffectually to staunch the blood from the scalp wound with one hand. Stumbling blindly, lungs heaving, ears ringing, waves of pain and nausea from both head and torso, he made it a few hundred feet before crashing unexpectedly into a flat surface, which then surged away from him – he'd lucked into a door and smashed it open. A small room was behind it, and then another open doorway, and another room filled with crates and other objects he couldn't properly see. "Hide!" was his only conscious thought.

And then he tripped over one final crate, fell to the floor behind it, and the world spun away into red pain and then blank nothing.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** I don't know why I love shooting Javier so much - this is the second story I've opened with that. Something Freudian about that. Sorry, Juan! _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

Letty was not asleep. She lay on her side in the morning light streaming through the nearby curtains, eyes tightly shut, pretending, unwilling to admit she was awake and thereby be forced to face the day.

She knew without looking, without reaching behind her, that Javier had not returned from last night's meeting. She would have awoken immediately when he came in, when his weight shifted the mattress beneath her, no matter the time, no matter how deeply asleep she had been the moment before. She could feel the empty bed behind her, the frigid absence of his warm body against her back, his strong arms which should have been encircling her, their legs entangled below, his beard tickling her neck.

Something was dreadfully wrong.

Her phone rang on the bedside table, and her eyes flew open with a gasp, but she knew before she reached for it that it wasn't Javi – it wasn't his ringtone. (She didn't normally go in for individualized tones; but hadn't been able to resist the opening bars of the song that always made her think of her lover.) She snatched it up anyway – perhaps he was calling from a different phone?

No such luck – it was only an acquaintance asking if they had any more "snow". Letty told the woman "No, we're out right now," and the caller hung up without another word. "Bitch," Letty muttered as she set the phone back down – only to grab it back up a moment later and cycle through calls and messages, making sure she hadn't slept through any. She hadn't.

They had a rule not to disturb each other at "work", but surely he couldn't still be busy? She dialed his number, holding her breath – but the call went immediately to voice mail. She left no message this time; none was needed.

Sighing, she set the phone down again and sat up, bunching the pillows behind her back. "OK, Mister Pereira, where the fuck are you?" she said to the empty room.

Washing her hands after using the bathroom a few minutes later, Letty smiled down at the diamond-and-sapphire ring on her left hand. Although it had been a few weeks now, the sight or the weight of it still sometimes caught her by surprise, spinning her back to Las Vegas with a thrill coursing through her veins.

* * *

The pair had been ironically amused to discover that neither of them had ever been to Sin City, so they immediately agreed to stop for a few days. A couple quick sales of blow had set them up in a nice hotel not too far off the strip – they didn't want to blast through their funds _too_ quickly, so they stayed away from the really swanky names.

A day after their arrival, Letty had sent Javi out to wander by himself; she had a job to do, which she was dreading, but the conviction had been slowly growing in her mind all the way across the country. She wrote three letters, to Jacob, Estelle, and Rob, and sent them all off in the same envelope, all repeating variations on the same theme: goodbye forever. She had finally gotten it through her ultra-thick, ultra-stubborn, piece of shit brain, she said, that the only way to give Jacob any chance at a normal childhood, a normal _life_ , was if she simply disappeared from their lives for good and stopped fucking him up. "I will always love each of you, and will forever have three holes in my heart, but I know now that this is for the best." Javi had returned to find her in a puddle of tears, and finally got her to 'fess up – but the letter had already been posted, and she would never change her mind. He knew that stubborn glint in her eyes well enough by now to take her at her word for that.

Of course he had been extra attentive, and extra loving, in the days after that; taking her to day spas and fine restaurants and buying her flowers and trinkets that caught his eye. (He stayed away from clothes after his first disastrous attempt, acknowledging out loud that their tastes just _didn't_ mesh.) So it was no surprise to her when he walked into their hotel room with his hands behind his back, knelt in front of her chair, and told her with a grin to close her eyes and hold out her hands. The shock of her life came a moment later, when he slipped a ring onto her third left finger.

"Marry me," he said simply.

"Are you joking?" was her instinctive response, immediately wished back, but he wasn't insulted.

"No, I am not joking. Letty..." He took a breath. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That's no surprise – or it shouldn't surprise you by now. And I want to do it the right way, with you as my wife. Legally."

"You've never even said..." she trailed off.

"What? That I love you?" He grimaced ruefully. "I thought I had shown it. But you need to hear it, don't you?" His hands had been on her knees, now he moved them to the back of her chair on either side of her waist, and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Then hear this. I love you, Letitia Raines. And I want to tack Pereira on the end of that."

Letty snorted. "Oh, that's _so_ romantic. Remind me to engrave that on your tombstone."

His sexy grin was inches away from her mouth. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes." Her eyes widened a moment later as she seemed to realize what she'd said, but it was too late to take it back, as Javier claimed her mouth with his own. And after that, she didn't want to.

Some time later, Letty rolled over in the big bed and reached for her ever-present phone. "What in the world are you doing now?" he whined, only half playfully.

"Looking for the closest wedding chapel, before you change your mind."

"Change _your_ mind, don't you mean?"

Shooting him a sideways glare, she didn't deign to answer. "Oh, look! Here's one run by an Elvis impersonator, only a block away!"

"No."

"But – "

" _NO."_ His angry expression suddenly reminded her of other times, when he'd been about to tear her a new one. She stared back, frozen, waiting.

Suddenly jerking upright, Javier made himself take a deep breath before turning to face her again. "Our marriage isn't a joke – not to me. And I don't want to start it with one. Find another chapel, one that's... serious. No..." He searched for a word, and came up with "... silliness, please."

"Check," she replied deadpan and turned back to the screen. "Elvis, nope. Roller coaster, nope. Mob museum, gun store... nah. Too close to reality." She glanced sideways in time to see him roll his eyes, and stifled a smile.

Javier was getting more and more bewildered. "Aren't there any _serious_ places here?"

"Here we go," she said, done teasing. " 'The Little Flower Chapel'. Look," turning the phone so he could see the pictures. "No cherubs, choirs, or neon hearts. And the officiant even looks the part." He did, too: an almost stereotypically kindly, beaming, white-haired gentleman, that practically begged to be called "parson".

"Okay," Javier relented. "That'll do."

Later, although Letty would never confess it, she never quite remembered the exact words they spoke (so they must have been simply the standard vows), but only Javier standing before her, holding her hands in his own slightly shaking ones, gazing so intently into her eyes that she thought she might drown in his and disappear that way. They'd stopped to buy him a ring, too, an engraved sterling silver band – but she said she loved the one he picked out, tiny diamonds surrounding a large oval sapphire, far too much detract from it with a separate wedding band; the one would do double duty. It still made her catch her breath every time she found it on her finger.

* * *

Several hours had passed since she woke, and Letty was getting hungry. She'd blown through the snacks they'd collected for breakfast, not wanting to leave the room in case he returned, but now her complaining belly drove her down the elevator and across to an In-N-Out. She even got a burger for Javier, just in case, bringing both meals back to the empty room to eat.

Hours after that, having made several more calls to his phone and starting to leave increasingly frantic messages, she guiltily consumed his burger.

She'd left the TV on most of the day for noise, attempting periodically to distract herself with old movies or the Food Network. Finally, late in the afternoon, she turned it to some local LA news.

And froze.

"Police are still investigating the massive shoot-out last night at the Long Beach docks which left more than a dozen wounded, and seven dead, including two still-unidentified males," the female announcer was saying over long-distance video of the scene, police tape everywhere and dozens of investigators combing every inch between and around stacks of shipping containers. "Police spokesperson John Andreas says it strongly suggests an armed battle between two rival street gangs," she named the two, which meant nothing to Letty, "although other possibilities have not been ruled out. Citizens with any information are requested to call the hotline which has been set up."

The report ended with morgue shots of the two unidentified men lingering on the screen above the hotline number. Letty stared, and then shakily began to breathe again. Neither man was Javier.

So where the fuck _was_ he?


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

The next morning, after another sleepless night jerking upright at each sound from outside, Letty made her way by Lyft down to Long Beach to the scene of the shootout, along with hundreds of others. The Looky-Loos were kept two blocks away from the site, even out of camera range, although that didn't prevent a half-dozen local TV reporters from occasionally firing up their cameras and doing an on-air update on the latest nothing. Letty was about to give up when she glimpsed a flatbed tow truck snaking its way past the crowd. Secured on the back was Javier's car, the same red Ford Escape they had driven across the country. Several windows were smashed out, and two marks that looked suspiciously like bullet holes marred the polished driver's door.

She couldn't breathe. Turning slowly, she watched it with huge staring eyes until the truck turned a corner and disappeared. She started to swing back – and then she saw him. Javier was standing a dozen feet away in the crowd, staring right back at her. She took a step... but then as someone passed between them, Javier morphed instantly into an old man, a random stranger, who only glanced at her and then away.

Letty froze in place, screwing her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands. "Not now, not now, not NOW!" she whispered fiercely to herself. "NO HALLUCINATIONS! STOP IT!" She made herself take a deep breath and drop her hands – though she couldn't keep from looking all around the area she thought she had seen him, just to make sure.

One of the reporters was a few feet to her side, talking loudly on a cell phone, apparently to his producer. She mentally tuned in just as he said, "No, all the bodies have been removed. There's nothing left to see here. I'm headed over to the hospital to see what I can pick up." He paused, listening. "Yeah, the next police news conference is at noon. I'll be there."

She swiveled around in time to catch him as he started to walk past. "Excuse me," she brushed his sleeve and he halted with an annoyed look. "What hospital were the wounded taken to?"

He looked her over, evidently trying to decide if she was a rival reporter. When he didn't see any equipment – and she wasn't made up for TV, he growled, "Mercy General," and stalked rapidly away, his cameraman scrambling after.

Pulling out her phone, she looked it up and discovered Mercy General only a few blocks distant. She could walk that far. Along the way, she tried once more to reason things out.

 _Neither of the two unidentified bodies was Javier. If he was dead, but ID'd, they would have contacted me, wouldn't they?_ The news anchor that morning had said no victims' names were being released until all the next of kin had been notified. Although how police would have found her to notify her, she didn't know. _So he must have been wounded, or else he would made it back 'home' by now. He's GOT to be in the hospital!_ Again, though, why wouldn't he have contacted her himself? Or told the hospital to do so? She wanted to shy away from the answer, but couldn't: _Not if he were badly wounded and still unconscious._

Walking in through the Emergency doors a few minutes later, Letty fearfully approached the check-in desk. "Can I help you?" the nurse asked. She seemed bright and caring.

Letty took a deep breath. "My husband is missing," she began in a low voice. "He hasn't come home in two days. I'm afraid he might have been mixed up in..." She couldn't finish, but the nurse got the gist.

"What's his name? I'll check in the patient register."

"Javier Pereira." They had been using their real names since arriving in LA, as neither had been very far west before.

The nurse asked her to spell both names to be sure, then checked several screens before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, we've had no one by that name – ever." She looked up at Letty kindly. "Any other name I should try?"

Letty gave her a couple of the aliases he had used in the past, but they didn't show up either. "Is there anyone who came in the last couple of days, who's unconscious, and hasn't given a name?"

The nurse checked. "No, we've no John Does here currently."

"What about..." Her voice trailed off, but she tried again. "Have any of them... not made it?"

"I don't know. If so, though, they wouldn't still be here. The coroner would have taken them to the county morgue."

Letty bit her lips, blinking back tears. "Were you here the other night, when they came in?"

The nurse nodded. "We pull twelve-hour shifts."

Pulling out her phone again, Letty called up the only picture she had of Javier – their wedding shot – and showed it to the nurse. "Did anyone look like that?"

To her credit, the lady took the phone and looked carefully at Javier's face, searching her memory, but finally shook her head again. "I haven't seen anyone who looks like him, honey. I don't think he came in here." She handed the phone back, then said thoughtfully, "But you know, there were a LOT of victims. Maybe he was taken to another hospital?" Turning her head, she consulted with another woman out of sight, then gave Letty the names of two other places that might have gotten some of the wounded. "Or if he wasn't wounded, of course, but arrested, he would have been taken to the county jail. Or..." Realizing what she was about to say, her voice cut off, but Letty finished it for her.

"The county morgue."

* * *

She got the same results at the other two hospitals, only one of which had gotten any gunshot victims on the night in question anyway. _And if he_ _had_ _been arrested, he would have called me, no question._ Which left only one place to try.

She tried to fortify herself with a burger first, but it tasted like ashes so she threw it in the trash after a couple of bites. She walked into the building where the morgue was located on leaden feet, and found the front desk. The officer behind it was used to family members coming to identify bodies, and treated her with both kindness and respect – even if it fell on unappreciative ears.

No, they had no bodies identified as Javier Pereira. They had four John Does from within the last two days – could she give a description? The one she gave didn't seem to match any of them, but the officer called a technician up to the desk and had Letty show the man the picture on her phone. He took a good long look, and then to Letty's incredible relief, shook his head. "No. We don't have anybody here who looks like that. Sorry."

Letty stood for a moment as the tech walked away, fighting back tears. Then she bit the bullet. "Where's the jail?" _Maybe he_ _had_ _been arrested, but hadn't called her for some reason._

But no, there was no one named Javier Pereira, or – she took a deep breath before she tried it – any of his other aliases in the jail. Nor did the officer on duty recognize his picture.

Javier had vanished, leaving his car behind.

* * *

Two thousand miles away, a flag popped up on an FBI computer. Someone in LA was making inquiries about the name Javier Pereira. An eyebrow was raised, an email was quickly composed, and it and the data were sent to the Los Angeles Bureau.

* * *

Back in the hotel, Letty plugged her phone in to power up, and then began prowling the police and news websites while CNN played low on the TV. As the list of deceased was released, she pounced on it – but none of the names was his, or any of his aliases. The same with the separate lists of wounded and arrested, or those still being sought, apparently escaped unharmed from the "battle". She counted them up and compared them with the tallies here and there again and again, until they all agreed – everyone was accounted for except those two originally unidentified from her first broadcast – who, even as she watched, they matched names to.

No Javier.

Phone fully charged, she dressed up and went out that night, hitting all their favorite places and asking all their acquaintances if they had seen him. Word spread that she was searching, but she got nowhere. There was no sign of him anywhere, nobody had seen or heard from her husband in two days.

Worried past frantic and wearied beyond exhaustion, she fell into bed long after midnight and actually slept hard until mid-morning. She turned on the TV to the local CNN affiliate when she got up, certain there'd be nothing new.

But there was.

Another body had been found, floating in the water beneath the pier. Currently unidentified, and due to the state it was in after being in the water for two days, the police did not release a morgue shot, but only a description: white male, possibly hispanic, five-foot-eight to five-foot-ten, build uncertain but probably slender, brown eyes, brown hair, full but closely-trimmed beard.

And Letty's world was ripped apart.

* * *

She managed to make herself return to the morgue mid-afternoon, and the officer at the desk remembered her, giving her a small sympathetic smile. "I thought you might be back." He asked her to have a seat in the shabby waiting area. As she turned numbly away, she didn't see him signal silently to a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit already sitting across the way, nor did she notice the Suit quietly folding his newspaper and watching her out of the corner of his eye.

A female officer with the name tag Blaine came out to greet her. Letty managed to choke out that she was there looking for her missing husband, that he'd been gone two days, and might possibly match the description of the body from beneath the pier. Officer Blaine asked for her name, and his, and then the spelling, then took Letty down a long hallway, turned a corner, and down another, stopping finally at a window covered with curtains on the other side. Letty still didn't register the Suit trailing discreetly along behind.

She was left at the window for a moment, as Blaine disappeared briefly into the room behind it, then returned to wait beside her. A few long minutes passed, and then the curtain was pulled back, revealing a sheet-covered body on a gurney on the other side, a man in scrubs attending.

"Mrs Pereira..." Blaine began hesitantly. "You do understand that the body is in terrible shape from the immersion? Discolored, swollen... It will be VERY traumatic to view it. You might not even recognize him, even if it IS your husband."

Letty nodded, staring at the sheet. "I've seen enough CSI. I understand. I have to know," she whispered, her voice raw.

Finally, Blaine turned and signaled Scrubs, who gingerly turned back one top corner.

Letty screamed. "NOOOOO!" Hands flying to her mouth, she continued to sob wildly, alternatingly scrunching her eyes shut to block the view, and flinging them wide again to verify. Bloated, greenish-white... but it was definitely Javier. After only a few seconds that felt like months, Officer Blaine motioned sharply to Scrubs, who lowered the sheet again to cover the face and then closed the curtains. Letty turned then, leaning back against the glass, covered her entire face with her hands and bent over, keening. Blaine reached out awkwardly and touched Letty's shoulder, repeating, "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

Finally, Suit stepped up closer. "Mrs. Pereira. I'm very sorry for your loss, and I know this is an awful time..." He ignored the glare shot at him by the tender-hearted Blaine. "... but I need to ask you a few questions about your husband."

Letty pulled herself up and lowered her hands below her eyes. She finally took in Suit, giving him a outraged, disgusted once-over. "Who the FUCK are you?" she spat out.

"Special Agent Danvers, with the FBI. We've been tracking your husband. We just need to ask you..."

That was as far as he got.

"I'm not telling you _anything._ " Letty rasped out, pushed far beyond anything resembling patience or understanding. " _Ever._ Leave me the fuck _alone!"_

And with that, she turned and fled, shoving past the startled Danvers and down the hall. She was running by the time she reached the front door, and she didn't slow down for blocks.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

Javier slowly drifted up through layers of mental molasses, until finally he was relatively certain he was awake in the real world. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut. He lifted his arms – but the left one wouldn't move – so he brought his right hand up and rubbed at his eyes, getting rid of the gunk. While he was doing that, he registered that he was lying on his back, he had a splitting headache, and his side felt like it had been kicked by a horse.

Gunk removed, his eyes would now open. At first, all he saw was grey, then it resolved into the grey metal walls and ceiling of a very small – about eight feet square – room. "What the fuck?" No noise was penetrating the room, but he seemed to be vaguely aware of a distant rumble, perhaps of very large engines.

He tried to sit up, and was reminded of his immobile left arm – then, looking down, he discovered the reason: it was tied to his left thigh with his own belt. A bit further up was the reason: someone had inserted an IV needle in his forearm; the restraint was to keep him from flailing around and ripping it out. The belt was loose, though; evidently only intended for while he was unconscious. He pulled the hand out before looking up to find the IV source: a now-empty bag of saline solution simply duct-taped to the wall above. Two other flat, empty bags were also there; he'd had three "units" of fluids. Since the current one was done, and he hated needles, he carefully but quickly undid the medical tape holding the needle in place and pulled it of his arm, crossing the tape back over the tiny hole. He left the line and needle hanging from the bag for now.

That was when he realized his wedding ring was missing. He stared at the empty finger for a moment, then frantically patted his pockets – his phone and wallet were gone, too. _Fuck._

Gingerly he swung his feet the other way to the floor beside the bunk – he _was_ lying on a narrow bunk – and got his torso upright. He took quick stock of himself, top to bottom: head wrapped in a bandage, his mouth felt and tasted like a sewer, another bandage around his middle, body absolutely filthy, wearing his own stinking dirty clothes, feet in only socks – but he spied his sneakers on the floor.

 _What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I?_ _THINK, Pereira!_

Suddenly, the last thing he remembered came flooding back: the meeting with his doppleganger on the commercial docks, the sudden gunfire, getting hit – that explained the bandages – stumbling away and into some kind of room.

 _So is this a prison? It sure as hell isn't a hospital._ He looked around again. Everything was flat grey metal: from the surface under the mattress, and the drawers beneath it, the small table next to the bed (using the bed for a chair), locker-style cabinets, even the sink and toilet on the other wall. Speaking of toilets... he managed to pry himself up and, holding on to walls and furniture, got over to said receptacle and used it for its intended purpose. Washing his hands quickly at the sink in the corner, he turned and eyed the featureless door in the fourth wall. He'd just begun to take a step that way to try it when the lever-type handle turned down and the door was pushed into the room, revealing a startled, clean-shaven man of twenty-five or so dressed in khakis, whose eyes widened with surprise at seeing Javier on his feet.

"You're alive!" he exclaimed with delight. "And awake!" Javier registered a second later that he was speaking Spanish, then that the man was holding a plate of food in one hand.

"Where the fuck am I?" he returned in the same language.

"On the butterfly."

That was pure gibberish to Javier. "What?"

"The butterfly. It's a ship – a cargo ship." The word fell into place then - "Mariposa", Spanish for butterfly, must be the ship's name. But...

"A _ship_? How...?"

Javier's confusion was confusing the other man. He held up a hand. "The Captain said to get him when you woke up – if you did. He'll explain." And with that, he reached over past Javier, set the plate down on the little table, then backed out and closed the door.

The plate, fork laid across the top, contained breakfast – at least, that's what Javier assumed the rubbery scrambled eggs, far-too-crispy bacon, and scraped burnt toast were supposed to be. It wasn't the least bit appetizing, but his stomach, having gotten a whiff of food-like smells, was letting him know it had been empty for far too long. So he gingerly sat himself down again on the bunk and attempted to eat without tasting, washing it down with tap water he poured into a clean coffee cup he found by the sink.

He'd choked down about half the plateful when the door opened again, this time framing a large, solidly-built man wearing more vaguely uniform-like khakis. "So you survived," he said, also in Spanish. "Who the hell are you?" Crossing his arms, he planted himself just inside the open door. He was clean-shaven, with short salt-and-pepper hair on his head, and bright blue eyes that felt like truth detectors.

Javier put the fork down on the plate and pushed it away, then attempted to sit up straight as he gave his real name – this had to be the captain. It was confirmed a moment later: "Capitán Frontera of the Mariposa."

"A cargo ship?"

The Captain nodded.

"I don't... know how the hell I got here," Javier admitted.

"My crew found you near the lower hatch, the day after we left port. They carried you here to Perez's quarters – they thought you were Perez. You look _exactly_ like him, and he apparently didn't come back on board. But when I came to see, I said, 'no, that's not Perez. That's somebody else.' You'd been shot – you look like hell. You're a stowaway. So they were going to throw you overboard." Javier stared at that, shocked, but the Captain went on. "I said no. You were still alive, and I'm not going to order a man's death. I told them to patch you up, and let God decide." He shrugged. "Apparently it pleased God that you should live."

That was a whole lot for Javier to absorb at once, so he put most of it away and seized on the most important bit. "Perez... I was meeting somebody on the docks, somebody who looked like me. That must have been him. So he was from this ship, eh?"

"Yeah. Miguel Perez. Our cook."

" _Cook?"_ Javier was flabbergasted. Bad enough that he had a double, but one who also cooked for a living? That was too much coincidence. He glanced at the half-eaten plate. "Then who...?"

"The crew is taking turns doing the cooking – or trying to," the Captain added, one side of his mouth quirking in acknowledgment of the crew's general failure in that regard. But he had other things on his mind. "Why were you meeting Perez?" came the harsh demand.

Javier looked up at him, and decided his best course was to be completely honest. "He was buying some cocaine from me."

"You're a drug dealer?" the Captain asked sourly.

Javier shook his head. "Not long-term. I... fell into some coke, needed the money, so I was selling it. I wasn't going to get more and keep doing it."

"And why were you shot? Who shot you? Was Perez shot, too? Is he dead?"

Javier tried to think back to the docks, but it had all happened so damn fast. He shook his head no. "I don't know. I can't answer any of those." Frontera looked skeptical at that, and Javier kept talking. "It all happened very quickly. We had just met, were staring at each other, when suddenly guns started going off all around us. I can't think why anyone would have been shooting at me. I have no idea if they were shooting at Perez, or the third guy, who had set up the deal. Maybe they were all shooting at each other, and all three of us just happened to be in the way." He shrugged helplessly, then added, "There were a _bunch_ of guns going off, all around us."

"Perez?" he was prompted. He thought, then shook his head again.

"I don't know. I _think_ maybe he was shot, but I can't be certain. I was just trying to... scramble out of there, find a place to hide." He looked up at the Captain, trying to radiate Truth. "I didn't even realize I had come on board this ship. All I knew is... I found a door, and a room, and then I collapsed. I'm not a deliberate stowaway, Capitán. I swear." Something was bugging him, and then he realized what it was. "How long have I been here?"

"We're four days out of port."

He was aghast. " _Four days?_ Oh my god. Letty must be _frantic."_ He started to put his hand into the pocket he usually kept his phone in, and then remembered: it was gone. "Capitán, my phone is missing. I need to call my wife, and tell her I'm okay. Please..."

Captain Frontera shook his head. "Your phone, wallet, and ring are in my safe. I trust my crew... but not _that_ much. I'll get them back to you now you're awake. But the phone won't do you any good while we're at sea – there's no service on board."

"Then... may I use the ship's radio – or whatever?"

"No," came the flat reply. He waited a beat, but then went on before Javier could form the words. "You're a stowaway, on my ship illegally. And an admitted drug dealer. A criminal. I owe you nothing."

Javier grasped at straws. "What if I joined your crew? I can cook. Take Perez's place."

Captain Frontera shrugged, unhelpful. "You could. You could try, anyway. But you still can't use the radio, not for six months, and then only in an emergency. Company policy. I'm not bending it for you."

"Then what can I do? Capitán, please. I _need_ to call my wife!"

"Wait till we reach port. Then you can get your phone on the local network, or buy another."

"And when will we reach port? And where?"

"Singapore. We'll be there in five more days."

"Five days..." A wave of devastation swamped him. The Captain started to turn, but Javier said quickly, "Capitán, wait! Please," he added, trying to be courteous. Frontera hooked an eyebrow, waiting. "Am I a prisoner?" Javier asked him straight out.

Frontera shrugged. "The door's not locked. But remember: we're in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. You won't get too far."

Javier took a deep breath. "Can I get some clean clothes please?"

He shrugged again. "Perez didn't make it back on board before we sailed. Officially, he's deserted, and all his stuff," he waved a hand around the room – Perez's former room, "is technically abandoned. Take what you like." And with that, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Javier gaped at the door in shock and devastation, then looked wildly around the tiny room – apparently his new home for the duration. "You fucked up this time, pendejo," he told himself. "You really... _really_ fucked up bad." His face twisted as another wave swamped him. "Letty..." She was so far away, so far out of reach. He sank down until his head was in both hands, and the tears came in a rush.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

Javier woke up suddenly, like he usually did, his eyes springing open and his lungs filling with air. It took him a few seconds longer than usual to place himself – in Perez's cabin on the Mariposa. He had laid back down again after the Captain left, and apparently fallen asleep. Judging from the electronic clock on the wall, he'd slept for several hours.

Pushing himself up, he realized he wasn't as weak or woozy as before; the long nap had done him good. (He would have thought that being unconscious for four days would have been the same as sleeping; apparently not.) He glanced over at the table to see if the rest of his so-called breakfast was still edible – and gasped, eyes flying wide. The breakfast was gone, replaced by a dry-looking sandwich on another plate – and stacked beside it were his phone, wallet, and ring. He grabbed the ring and put it back on his hand where it belonged, clenching his fist for a moment as though it were in danger of being snatched off again right then and there. Then he inspected his wallet; it seemed intact. He had a couple hundred dollars cash, one remaining valid credit card, various other cards, now mostly useless, and a South Carolina driver's license, all in his real name. He didn't habitually carry things on himself with other names, against just such a situation as this. The phone was dead; he'd have to find a charger.

And a key for that door. The idea of people wandering in and out while he slept was unsettling, to say the least. He hadn't thought of shooting the bolt after the Captain left, but he'd certainly start keeping it locked now – right now. Pulling himself carefully upright, he stepped over to the door and turned the lock, hearing it hit home with a satisfying click. _Better late than never,_ he thought.

Javier had realized almost without thinking about it that there was literally _nothing_ he could do about the brute fact of his being on the ship, at least for now. All he could do was try to make the best of it, until they reached port. _Looks like I'm a cook again. Well. First order of business is to get cleaned up._

He took a step to the toilet and used it, then opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and found a full bottle of mouthwash. Using it several times, he made a mental note to add toothbrush and hairbrush to the key – those were two things he was NOT going to borrow from Perez. Then he stepped the other way and opened what he thought was a tall square closet in the far corner, finding instead a tiny shower stall, towel hanging on a rack on the front of the door. _Well, that's better._ He'd thought he was going to have to use a communal shower room, something he'd never been comfortable doing, even alone. He reached in and checked out the toiletries; they wouldn't have been his first choice, but they'd do. _The clothes must be in the other locker at the end of the bed._ They were. He found a dozen casual shirts, all of which would fit him well enough, and in styles he was not uncomfortable wearing. The four pairs of pants hanging beside, all in dark colors, would also fit, more or less – at least they'd do until he could find others. And on close inspection, he found they were all clean, even to a sniff test. Perez was apparently a nonsmoker, too. Had been.

And then, wonder of wonders, on the raised floor of the closet he spied a plastic bin, filled with all sorts of bandages and first aid stuff – everything he'd need to change his stinking, dirty, used dressings. "Thank you," he said aloud at whoever had left them. "I was afraid I'd have go looking."

Socks and underwear were in drawers below the closet, and a couple of pairs of shoes – but these last were too small, just. At least his own sneakers on the floor were still wearable. He still felt squeamish about wearing all these things, borrowed from the owner without permission – he didn't even want to think about that owner possibly being dead. _I'll make it up somehow, if I ever run into him again._

He made a small stack of clean clothes to change into on the bed (making a mental note to change the bedding first chance, too), then turned again to the mirror hanging over the sink, peering closely at the bandage around his head. It definitely needed removal and replacement. So did the one around his middle. Carefully unwinding the wraps, and then using the bandage scissors in the bin, he got them both down to what had become stuck to the large forming scabs. "Let's just see what soaks off in the shower," he told his reflection, who agreed to the plan.

He left the remains of his own clothes – all ruined now from blood, dirt, oil, and rips – in a pile on the floor to deal with later, and stepped into the tiny shower. Even though he turned the water off whenever he could, he still probably used four times as much as allowed; but the water apparently wasn't metered and did not get shut off. Neither wound was completely healed – the side even less so than the scalp – so he didn't try to remove the last bits of bandage or scabs, but carefully – and very painfully – washed around them. Bending over was tough, not just because of the limited space; he was certain at least one rib had been damaged. Nor was there an exit wound: unlike the scrape along his scalp, he must still be packing that bullet.

 _Whatever._ He did seem to be healing, even if more slowly than he might have liked. It had only been four days, after all. And as the Captain hadn't mentioned a doctor on board – not that Javier liked going to them, anyway, they asked too many questions – he'd just continue taking care of himself and being careful.

New clean bandages around head and torso did wonders for his outlook, as did simply being clean. He found a very wide, very long ace bandage and wrapped his middle up as tightly as he could stand, in mind of the bruised or broken rib, and felt almost human again afterwards, especially when he pulled on clean clothes from his unwitting benefactor. The shirt fit well, and the pants were only a couple of inches too short for his taste. They'd do.

 _Time to get to work._ Kicking the pile of ruined, filthy clothes to a corner for now, Javier glanced around to make sure he was leaving the room decently tidy, and cautiously opened the door.

He found himself at one end of a hallway with doors on both sides. To his right, at this end of the hall, was another door with a window inset, revealing a stairway. No noise came from anywhere along the hall. He turned left, glancing at his own door as he closed it (reminding himself again to get a key) and taking in the empty name plate underneath one marked "Chief Cook". The next few doors on the same side held similar name plates for various officers, while the doors opposite – more widely spaced – showed two or four names of crew members.

Javier realized nothing was on this deck but crew quarters, returned, and went through the door to the stairway. _Up or down?_ No clues either way, so he simply decided to go up. On the next floor, he found he had guessed right. This one held various communal rooms and offices on the left, and on the right, the first door led straight into the kitchen.

Entering and closing the door behind him, Javier found himself under the surprised gaze of an average-sized Asian man in his thirties, who was standing on the far side of a center work island, peeling potatoes. Without warning, Javier was swamped by a wave of irritation at his impossible, ludicrous situation. "I'm a professional chef," he informed the man, adding with tired fury: "Get the _fuck_ out of my way."

He stalked over to the sink, grabbing a clean chef's apron off the hook on the wall and proceeding to wash his hands without another word. Drying them on the apron, he turned and found the man still gaping after him in astonishment. Before he could snap again, the man asked in somewhat broken English, "You cook? Like Perez?"

"Yeah. I am."

The man barked a laugh, then pointed at himself with the potato peeler. "I'm steward. My job help you." He made a face at the potato in his hand. "But I can't cook," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head.

Javier snorted, remembering the awful meals that had turned up in his room already. "No shit," he replied sourly. Instantly contrite when the man's expression turned slightly hurt, he apologized. "Sorry. I'm cranky," he explained, pointing to the bandage on his head.

This netted him another happy laugh, evidently forgiven. Glancing at the potatoes on the counter already peeled and turning brown, he looked quickly for a large pot and began filling it with cold water in the sink. While the water was rising, he turned back. "I'm Javier," he introduced himself.

"Jiho. Kim Jiho."

"Kim Jiho..." Javier murmured. "That's Korean, right?"

"Ye. South Korea." Which meant that Kim was his family name, Javier knew.

"I don't know any Korean, sorry. Habla Español?"

Jiho shook his head. "A little English."

"Good enough." By that time there was enough water in the pot to cover the potatoes, and Javier swung it around to the counter, grunting at the unexpected strain on his side. He explained to Jiho that the cold water would keep them from turning brown, and helped him put the peeled ones inside.

"Okay." Javier nodded at the clock on the wall. "What time is the next meal?"

"Five thirty, six thirty. Two shifts."

It was now just past four. Javier nodded. "An hour and half till the first shift. How many people on board?"

Jiho had to think for a second for the numbers. "Twenty-eight. Half each shift."

"Including us?"

"Ye." Korean for 'yes'.

"When do we eat?"

"After second shift served."

"Okay." He thought a second, then pointed at the potatoes. "Twenty-eight," he directed Jiho. "One each."

Jiho nodded, grinning hugely, and went back to peeling. Javier turned away and grabbed the rolling cart nearby, headed towards cooler and dry storage doors. "Let's see what we can do," he commented to himself. Before he reached the first door, Jiho was whistling a jaunty tune. Javier glanced back. "Cheerful little fucker," he said wryly. But he was smiling in spite of himself.

He didn't bother with the freezer – no time to thaw anything big enough to feed twenty-eight – and a glance in the cooler didn't reveal anything promising, so he went into the dry storage, spotting a five-pound canned ham in no time. "That'll do!" Half a dozen large onions joined the ham on the cart. Then Javier spotted a familiar plastic bottle with a large red screw top and grinned broadly as he picked it off the top shelf. He was right: Goya Adobo seasoning. "Come here, you beautiful thing!" he crooned, unscrewing the top and sniffing to make sure it was still reasonably fresh. On his way out, he grabbed two loaves of sliced bread.

Back in the cooler, a large brick of butter, two industrial-size flats of eggs (six by six), and a bag of eighteen red tomatoes, which although miraculously still fresh looked like they were ready to mutiny come morning, rounded out his selections and he wheeled the cart back to the island.

Jiho saw the contents and gave Javier a puzzled look. "Eggs for dinner?"

"They cook fast," he explained, "and the canned ham is fully cooked too. Dinner will be on time."

Jiho was almost finished peeling. Javier grabbed another large pot and filled it with hot tap water this time, putting it on the stove to heat and liberally salting the water. A stack of large metal bowls were moved to the island, and he laid two out for the potatoes, filling each halfway with cold water first, then catching Jiho's eye and pointing to each in turn: "Five-thirty meal. Six-thirty meal." Then he grabbed a knife off the rack, quickly honed it, and showed Jiho how he wanted the potatoes prepped: two cuts lengthwise into quarters, then sliced medium thick. Jiho nodded and got to slicing, putting each cut-up spud into alternate bowls. Javier turned his attention to the onions, dicing them quickly and dividing them likewise. Then he opened the canned ham, washed off the jelly, cut it in halves, and diced each half into separate bowls as well.

By the time the cutting was done, the water was boiling. He took one bowl of sliced potatoes, poured the cold water off into the sink, and added them carefully to the pot to parboil, then had Jiho put the three bowls for the second shift in the cooler. He fired up the big flat-top grill to start heating, and put a very large scoop of butter in a saucepan on top to melt. The two men, sharpening their knives again, sliced all the tomatoes carefully and put them in another bowl.

"What about drinks?" Javier suddenly remembered.

Jiho grinned again, pointing out the serving window to large dispensers at the side of the dining room. "Coffee, soda, milk, water." He glanced at the clock. "I start coffee now," and went to do just that.

The potatoes were half-cooked, just as Javier wanted, and he carefully poured the pot over a huge strainer on the sink to drain the water off. A squeeze bottle by the grill held cooking oil, and Javier made a large puddle in the grill's center, then added a large scoop of butter. "Oil keeps the butter from burning; butter makes the oil taste good," he explained to a curious Jiho, who had returned, and the steward grinned. Two chef's tips already. Butter melted, potatoes drained; Javier dumped the spuds onto the grill, added the onions and the ham, and started stir-frying them all together, adding a generous sprinkle of the Adobo over it all. He started Jiho toasting the bread, two slices each, and brushing each slice with the melted butter.

Glancing at the clock, Javier saw it was just a few minutes to show time and grinned to himself. Perfect. The hash was brown and crispy; he lowered the heat on one side of the grill to just warm and piled the hash on that side. He had Jiho arrange plates, toast, and tomatoes on the prep counter just to the right of the grill, and showed him with the first plate how he wanted those items arranged, then the plate handed to him to finish.

Two minutes to go. Javier started breaking eggs in pairs down the hot side of the grill, ticking off fifteen seconds in between each pair. Just as the outer door opened, admitting the first of the crew to the dining area on the other side of the serving window above the grill, he flipped the first pair of eggs, grabbed the first prepared plate, scooped a large mound of hash with his spatula and put it on the plate, added the pair of eggs on top, and handed it out the window with a smile to a very surprised Captain Frontera. Without a word, he flipped the next pair of eggs, broke two new ones in the now empty spot, and grabbed the next plate from Jiho.

He was in such a rhythm that Jiho surprised him when he stopped Javier from breaking two more eggs. "That's all for this shift," he said, and indeed, the last three men were in line. Javier had miscalculated the hash only slightly; two spatulafuls went into a bowl for later use.

A short time later, Jiho, coming out of the cooler with the next batch of sliced potatoes, spotted the Captain standing outside the serving window, arms crossed, watching Javier rinse plates. Jiho whistled to get Javier's attention and pointed with his chin, making Javier swivel around to see. Frontera looked at Javier silently a moment, then nodded.

"Okay," he said simply. "You've got the job." Then he turned and walked out.

One of Javier's cheeks crinkled into his trademark half-smile, which he turned on Jiho, who grinned back broadly. That made Javier laugh aloud, and he went back to dishes feeling almost satisfied.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

Four more days crawled slowly by as Javier settled into his new routine in the Mariposa galley, but at last, shortly after midday local time five days after he regained consciousness, the ship began its ponderous transit of the straits and islands leading to Singapore's commercial docks. As docking and then beginning the offloading of those containers bound for this port generally was an "all hands on deck" experience, Javier simply set out a cold buffet of items that would keep with minimum attention in lieu of the usual hot dinner, so the crew could grab what they wished when they had a minute.

Finally, very late that evening, the ship's clerk announced over the loudspeaker that nonessential, off-duty personnel could begin their shore leave. Javier grabbed a light jacket from Miguel's locker and slung it over one shoulder as he made his way to the gangway. Captain Frontera was there generally keeping an eye on things; he pulled Javier aside for a moment. "We'll be tied up for just twenty-four hours. Let me know by noon tomorrow whether or not you'll be coming back, so I'll have time to hire a new cook from the union if I need to." Javier nodded agreement.

First order of business was communications. He knew he didn't need to worry about store closing times; at a busy port like this, all businesses were twenty-four-hour operations. And sure enough, only a couple of blocks from the docks he found a telephone and electronics store doing a booming trade. He had found Miguel's phone charger a few days before in a drawer; by this time the piled-up coincidences meant only a raised eyebrow that they apparently had the same make (but it _was_ an iPhone, after all). And sure enough, just fifty dollars bought him twenty-four hours prepaid access to the local network, unlimited voice and data. Yeah, it was steep, comparatively, but such was the price paid for traveling.

The next setback, though, came at checkout: his credit card was declined with the message "Account Closed". Same with his debit card. Stunned, he poked through his wallet, although he knew he had no other cards to try, then finally, with a weak smile, pulled out the cash.

Connected at last, Javier stepped outside and found a quiet spot in the mouth of an alley, leaned against a wall, and made the call he'd been dying for. Checking the time difference first, he found it was just eight in the morning in LA – a little early for Letty, but he thought she'd get over it. So he pulled up her number, added the international access code and country code for the USA, and clicked Call.

It took almost thirty seconds for the call to connect halfway around the world, but it finally went through – and he got the shock of his life as the dreaded triple tone pierced his hopes. "We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected, and there is no new number."

Javier's jaw dropped, mirroring his heart. He checked that he had the number right at least twice, before sending it again, to the same result. Letty's cell phone, never more than a few inches from her hand, had been disconnected. What the hell had happened?

He tried going through directory assistance of the service they'd been using, but the infuriating computer wouldn't admit to having anyone named Letty Pereira – or Letty Raines, for that matter – in its database. Or Letitia. Or even Javier. Nothing.

 _OK, Pereira. Deep breath. Don't panic._ He next tried a national directory assistance line, also to no avail; but then, that one wasn't always very reliable. So he dug out of memory the name, city and street of the hotel they'd been staying at. The national line did have that, and connected him to the front desk. When he asked for their old room number, though, the hotel desk clerk hesitated.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there's no one registered in that room right now."

"I'm trying to reach Letty Pereira, who was staying there."

"Hold please." He could hear her tapping on the computer keyboard. "I'm sorry, Mrs Pereira checked out without notice about a week ago."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she just walked out, didn't pay the last two nights, and left a bunch of stuff behind." He could hear the aggravation in the clerk's voice, telling a stranger (for all she knew) things she probably shouldn't. When he pressed, she elaborated that the "stuff" was mostly clothes, which had been held for a few days against their owner's return, then given to Goodwill.

"And you haven't heard from her? No forwarding address?"

"If we had, we'd have gotten payment! I don't suppose _you_ would be willing to pay for those last two nights?" At that, he hung up.

Now he was really starting to get worried. He'd held it at bay on board the ship, never having been one to stress about things beyond his control, but all the fears for her sanity, safety, and security were tumbling out now. _Where IS she?_

Looking at the time again, he realized it was nearing noon on the US east coast. He had one more ace up his sleeve, and used it now, pulling up and dialing a number he hadn't used in two years. Again, it took a bit longer than normal to go through, but this time he was rewarded by a familiar male voice answering.

"Mike? It's Javier! How are you?"

"Hey, man, good to hear from you! How you been?"

Javier managed to get through the pleasantries, then asked his old contact for his assistance in locating someone once more. Mike had access to a great many official databases and communications systems; Javier had never been stupid enough to ask how or why; but simply paid the requested search fees without complaint.

"Letitia Pereira? Relative of yours?" Mike asked as he typed the name.

"Yeah," he admitted, but only added, "Long story."

Mike grunted. "Okay, here we go," he began, and Javier felt his spirits rise. "Something out of LA... wait a second... What?" Mike was reading something that was giving him conniptions. "What the _fuck?"_

"What? What's going on?"

"You're Javier Pereira, right? This says you're dead. The police in Long Beach have your body identified, and … "

"Mike?"

Suddenly Mike was hissing, spitting fury. "You son of a _bitch!_ What the _fuck?_ You're a fucking _hitman?_ " Javier didn't know what to say, but Mike wasn't listening anyway. "All those people I helped you find all those years, you were fucking _killing_ them?" Someone else must have been nearby, as Mike was nearly screaming in a whisper.

"Mike... no... All right. I _used_ to do that, yes, but I've quit! I don't do it any more, I swear! I'm just trying to find my wife!"

"Your _wife?"_

"Yeah. We got separated by that thing in LA, and now I can't find her – "

"Good! She got away from you in time!" Javier felt like he'd been slapped. Suddenly Mike's voice changed, from shocked and horrified to furiously resolute. "No. No, no, _no!_ I'm fucking _done._ I am _out_. I am _never_ helping you, _ever_ again, with _anything._ I can't believe what you've dragged me into! Don't you _ever_ call me again, you son of a bitch, for _any reason_ , or I swear to God I'll turn you in to the police!" And with that, the line went dead.

"Mike? Mike!" Javier felt sick. He pulled the phone away from his ear, checking the display to make sure the call had been cut off. It had. He almost redialed, but stopped himself. He didn't doubt Mike's threat for a second.

Shocked, breathing in ragged gasps, Javier looked wildly around him, coming mentally back to the street. People were staring at him as they walked past, quickening their pace just a hair. He needed to sit down and _think._

After a false start, he managed to get his numb feet moving, and there, a block away, was an always-open cafe advertising western food. He went in, ordered a sandwich and a coffee at the counter, and found a quiet table. Then he did what he should have done earlier: went online and looked up news reports from Long Beach, California.

It began with what he had guessed at: he and the other two men had apparently been caught up in the crossfire of an armed confrontation between rival street gangs. It had started with a grudge, of course, two members of one gang looking for revenge on a couple of members of the other, but had quickly escalated to the kind of shootout not seen outside of movies in years.

He then found the lists of names: arrested, wounded, dead. And there he was: Javier Pereira. A final body, with several gunshot wounds, had been fished out of the water two days after the shootout, and identified as himself – how or by whom was not included. _Perez?_ He scrolled back up and checked the lists again; nobody named Miguel Perez. The body had to have been him. _But what about his wallet, his phone? He definitely had one,_ he realized, remembering the pictures.

There were two possibilities, he thought. Either they had fallen out of his pockets in the water and not recovered, or someone had "recovered" them before he went in the drink. Scrolling back through the lists one more time, he found no mention of anyone named Marco, the third man who had arranged the meeting, either. Javier sat back and thought hard for a moment. They had been at least thirty yards away from the edge of the docks when the shooting started. There were only two ways for Miguel to have ended up wet: either he had stumbled to the water after he was shot and fell in, or somebody put him there. Marco himself was a likely suspect, which would account for the missing items. Since nobody else had ended up in the ocean, a gang member was unlikely.

At any rate, the result was the same: Miguel had taken his place, just as he had taken Miguel's. He shuddered.

Picking his phone back up, Javier clicked on his linkified name – and felt his world come crumbling down. Someone in the FBI or Long Beach Police Department, or both, had leaked to the press about ongoing investigations: Javier Pereira had been linked to several mysterious deaths or disappearances in recent years, and departments all over the country were reviewing old cases for more links. He was suspected of possibly being a serial killer, or even a murderer-for-hire in some instances. The report did not mention any victims' names or cities, so he couldn't verify if they had any right, but it really didn't make any difference.

His past had at last caught up with him. And more, he realized with a leaden heart that he could never safely return to the States. He had lost his adopted home of the past two decades on top of everything else.

Taking several deep breaths, Javier forced himself to return to the most pressing issue: Letty. Scrolling through that report and every other he could find, he found no mention of his wife anywhere. After several minutes he conceded: either she had gone underground, or the police were keeping her under tight wraps. Either way, it was most likely that she believed that her husband was dead.

He pushed the phone away and concentrated on his sandwich, even though it tasted like ashes, chewing and swallowing mechanically for several minutes. Thus minimally fortified, he picked the phone back up and pulled out his final aces, finding his way onto his old online haunts on the dark web. Years before, he had purchased stolen access to several official databases and other sources of info, although nowhere near as connected or complete as Mike had at _his_ fingertips.

Time after time, though, he came up short. Either his stolen passwords had been deleted and blocked since he last used them, or there was no recent info on Letty. He knew there were people on the dark web who could likely help – in fact, two of them noticed his searching and broke in to offer their services, but he knew fully well that, especially with the loss of his credit card, he simply did not have the tens of thousands of dollars for their fees, so he politely declined and continued on his own, until he ran completely out of ideas.

Logging out of the dark web again, Javier sat sipping the last of his coffee, racking his brains to find any overlooked avenue. One did finally occur to him: Danville. Would she, _could_ she, have contacted her mother, or even returned to her childhood home? Could he find out anything if he called – Rob, perhaps? His "father-in-law" would be more likely to talk to him than anyone else there, that was certain.

But no. Javier just didn't believe she would have gone there. Her decision, represented by the letters she had mailed from Las Vegas, to cut all ties and disappear from Jacob's life for good had been too punishing, too momentous, and too damn _final_ ; he didn't believe she would _ever_ back down from it. _Leave that alone, pendejo_ , he told himself.

Which left him with nowhere else to turn.

* * *

Half an hour before noon the following day, Javier slowly trudged up the gangway to the Mariposa's deck, a paper shopping bag hanging from one hand. He stopped at the top, before stepping onto the ship proper, facing Captain Frontera.

They gazed solemnly at each other for a moment, then Javier asked tiredly, and a little sourly, "Permission to come aboard, Capitán? I'd like that job back, if it's still available."

"What happened?" Frontera managed to pour an unreasonable amount of compassion into two words.

Javier shrugged, tears unexpectedly stinging his eyes. "I can't find her. She's disappeared. I've tried everything I know – and I know a _lot._ " He shook his head. "Maybe I could find her if I was back there, but I can't afford the plane fare." He gestured vaguely towards the ship with his free hand. "I was hoping I could earn it."

"What's in the bag?"

He held it out, saying, "Clothes that fit." As Frontera took it and poked through the clothes he'd purchased that morning with the remainder of his cash, Javier added, "No contraband."

"Okay," the Captain said simply as he handed back the bag. "You know where your quarters are. Come see me tomorrow after breakfast – the office behind the bridge – and we'll get you entered into the computer as a new employee." As Javier nodded and finally stepped onto the deck, Frontera added ironically, "Welcome aboard."

Javier paused, shooting him a look to verify the sentiment, then transferred the bag to his left hand, and gave Frontera an equally ironic two-fingered salute.

* * *

As the Mariposa reached each new port, Javier repeated his quest: first connecting his phone to the local system with a short prepaid contract, then cycling through every avenue he could think of to search for Letty. But he continued to come up dry each time. She had simply, utterly disappeared. And finally, after several weeks; thwarted, heartbroken, and bewildered, he stopped trying.

But he never managed to make himself take off his wedding ring.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

Letty never did know exactly how long she was on the street after running out of the morgue; by the time she cared enough to inquire about the date, almost a month had passed. She never went back to the hotel.

First, she tried to drown her agony at losing Javier with booze, and when that didn't work, she switched to drugs – any and all, anything that promised relief from the pain. Nothing worked, of course; she was _the_ most miserable, pathetic, crying, mean-spirited drunk-slash-junkie that ever tipped a bottle or smoked a bowl. Even the other junkies in the flophouse she eventually found (they still exist) avoided her, and the dealers pushed her away – sometimes literally – as soon as she'd made a purchase. The fact that she never changed clothes or washed didn't help matters any.

She had automatically loaded their remaining cash – almost five thousand dollars – and genuine jewelry – value uncertain – into her bag when she'd left for the morgue that day, leaving mostly clothes and trinkets behind. When she ran out of cash on her spree, she took all the jewelry out and dumped it on the counter at a pawn shop. She didn't care if any of it was flagged as stolen; she was never going to return. Nor did she care that she was undoubtedly getting less for it than she would have if sold piece by piece. She just wanted the next fix.

She refused to part with only three things. Her wedding ring she turned around on her finger, so the jewels wouldn't show and tempt a thief. Her phone, dead and forgotten (she hadn't brought the charger), was lost in the bottom of the bag. At some point their month-to-month prepaid service ran out; she neither knew nor cared. Who was going to call her, anyway? But it held all her precious photos, the only things she had left of her previous life. Someday she'd want to see them again, if not now. And the handbag itself, her old favorite padded one. She couldn't have said why she hung onto it so fiercely, perhaps merely having something physical to hold helped in itself. Later she would not be certain she'd never sold her body, but she didn't remember ever doing so – and her physical and emotional condition would have made finding a buyer extremely unlikely, even among her then-current "associates".

Ever after, she only recalled brief snippets, without rhyme or reason – but that was the whole _point_ , to _forget._ There was one moment, though, that she always remembered with absolute clarity; a perfect gestalt of a particular scene, complete in all details. She was hunkered over in the filthiest alleyway imaginable, next to a stinking dumpster. The horrific smells of vomit, dog shit, rotten food, and urine made an almost palpable miasma, while distant blinking neon colors broke the yellow-white street lamps coming from the mouth of the alley to light the scene. Letty was hunched over, legs tucked under, holding a broken beer bottle in one hand as she applied it to her other wrist in fierce concentration. It was the only way left to kill the pain.

Of course, like all her other suicide attempts, this one didn't work either. Someone apparently found her in time and called an ambulance. She woke up – if that's the word – some unknown time later in a starched white hospital room, her wrists stitched up and securely bandaged – and held in restraints against the bed rails. She was a suicide risk, after all, and therefore (she found out later) had been admitted to a psych ward.

Unable to do anything else, she proceeded to make all the nurses and nearby patients as miserable as her previous neighbors in the flophouse; wailing and crying and begging them to "just let me die!" It took several long days for her body to work the remains of whatever all she had ingested out of itself, and she was hungover and withdrawing at the same time. The constant drip of IV fluids no doubt saved her life. But gradually, as she came out of it, she also quieted down, until she was nearly catatonic. She was undoubtedly "there", conscious and aware; she just refused to respond to anyone or anything, even after it was judged safe to let her out of her restraints and remove the bandages.

Finally, several days after she was admitted, Nurse Carole walked into her room one afternoon, finding Letty had raised the head of her bed and was staring out at the top of the majestic California live oak in the courtyard (they were several floors up) as she absently stroked the new scars on her wrists. Coming closer, Carole spied silent tears streaking Letty's cheeks. Not necessarily new in itself, but something about her patient was different. So she set her tablet down on the table, hitched one hip onto the bed, placed a hand on both of Letty's, and waited.

After nearly a minute of silence, Letty turned her head and looked at Carole. "He was the only one who ever believed in me. The only man I ever loved." Her voice was only a hoarse whisper, barely louder than the air blowing from the ceiling vent. It was the first coherent, rational utterance she had made.

Carole gave a sad, wistful smile. "I know, honey. I lost my husband eight years ago. You never fully _heal_ , but... it does get better over time."

Two more tears appeared and began their descent, and Carole reached impulsively for Letty's shoulders and pulled her into a close hug. She'd been a nurse for thirty-plus years, but had somehow managed to maintain the balance of thick skin and compassion that let her know exactly what each patient needed and when, without getting so involved that she lost her sense of self. Sometimes it was just some human contact, human warmth.

Letty cried silently on her shoulder for a few minutes – a big improvement over the previous days' volume. When Carole was certain she had stopped, she gently pushed Letty back onto the pillows, and answered as though no time had passed. "You're just going to have to learn how to believe in yourself now."

"How? All my life..." she trailed off.

"It's never too late to learn," Carole said with all the love she possessed. "We'll help you get started."

She took her vital signs – the reason for her visit – and left, only to return a few minutes later, placing a pile of folded clothing and a towel as well as a plastic bag on the table over Letty's feet. "First thing," she began, "is to get you out of that bed, cleaned up, and into some new clothes. A nice long hot shower will do you good."

"Where did those come from?" Letty motioned vaguely to the folded clothes.

Carole grimaced. "Charity. But they're not bad." Shaking out the top, she held it up for Letty's inspection; a loose-fitting smock in primary blue and red. Letty just sighed. "Well," Carole agreed obliquely. "It'll do for now. And these yoga pants will certainly make you more comfortable than that hospital gown. Come on, girl." And with that, she pulled back the blanket and gently but very firmly guided Letty up onto her feet. "Do you need some help in the shower?"

"No," was the soft but definite reply.

"Okay, but make sure you _use the chair._ You haven't even stood up in days, you're going to be dizzy. Just pull the cord if you need help after all."

The bag contained toiletries, all in the tiny travel/sample size – enough for two or three showers. Letty dutifully – if mechanically – shampooed and washed, then stayed under the spray long enough for the water swirling down the drain to run completely clear again. She even brushed her teeth.

Coming back out – the clothes did fit, after all – she found her bed completely remade with fresh sheets, and Carole waiting with a tray of food. The nurse made her patient sit on the vinyl easy chair to eat, and coaxed her slowly through almost half before Letty just couldn't swallow any more. Then, taking the tray away, she came back with one more gift. "A little something to occupy your mind, since you don't want the TV on or to visit the day room." They had covered those subjects during the meal. "It may seem a little silly, but a lot of people enjoy it."

"It" proved to be an "adult coloring book" full of mandala designs, and a box of colored pencils. Letty idly paged through the book, just looking at each black-and-white design. Partway through, she paused at one that had been half-completed by someone else. Several pages further on, she suddenly backtracked. That half-colored page irritated her sense of balance. Sighing, she reached for the box of pencils, found the colors that had been used, and started filling in the blanks.

She finished some time later and sat looking at the now completed page with a tiny bit of satisfaction – and then abruptly shoved the book and box away. She turned and looked out the window again, but the chair was too low to see the tree properly out of the waist-high window, so she moved back onto her bed, raising the head again so she was half-sitting. She sat watching the tree branches swaying in the breeze for a very long time, not thinking of anything in particular. The movement reminded her for some reason of a vast, deep ocean, tossing a ship around on gigantic waves.

"Shhhhhhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhhh," Javier breathed in her ear – or maybe that was the leaves outside. Her eyes sank slowly closed, and she drifted off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

Captain Frontera looked up from his computer on the side bar to his desk as Javier tapped on the open door to his office and nodded, adding, "Come. Sit." So Javier took the visitor's chair, reporting as ordered to be entered into the system. "I was just closing out Miguel Perez's file. 'Quit without Notice'," Frontera added a little sourly.

"Actually," Javier told him, "I'm fairly certain he's dead."

"Oh?"

"The police in Long Beach think I'm dead – and they have a body to go with it. It's got to be Perez."

Frontera swiveled around to face his visitor. "Did you find out what happened back there?" So Javier told him what he'd found about the 'street battle' and its unintended victims. Afterwards, they were silent for a moment. Then, "That makes things rather difficult for you, doesn't it? Your wife probably thinks she's a widow."

Javier had been up all night onshore thinking about exactly that. "I wish I knew," he answered softly, shaking his head, and then shrugged the subject closed.

"Well," the Captain returned to his previous subject and the computer screen. "Since I don't have any official confirmation of his death, as far as the company is concerned, he is still 'Quit without Notice'. As usual."

"You get a lot of guys just walking off?"

"Si." He shot the new cook a piercing look. "This industry has an extremely high turnover rate – some years, over one hundred percent." He shrugged. "So I don't usually try to get to know someone very well until they've been around for a while. Not worth the effort."

"And as the Captain, you're not supposed to be _too_ chummy with the crew," Javier commented.

Frontera shot him an appreciative smile. "I'm glad you realize that." With a sigh, he went on. "So I can be a hardass, yes, and distant. But I _do_ try to be fair."

Javier nodded again. "Yo intiendo." As Frontera clicked a few computer keys, he added on sudden impulse, "May I see Perez's personnel file?"

"Why?"

He struggled for a second. "I'm not sure. It's just that... we took each other's place, without intending to. I feel like I should at least try to get to know him a little."

"Well, ordinarily, I would say 'absolutely not, company policy', but under the circumstances... I'll give you the first couple of pages." Frontera sent the job to the printer at his elbow, pulled the sheets off, dutifully blacked out a couple of sensitive items with a marker, and handed them across the desk. Javier thanked him, folded them once, and set them down before him.

"Now, then," the Captain went on briskly, closing one window and opening another. "New employee." He shot an amused look at his guest. "Since Javier Pereira is dead, what name shall I put in for you?"

If he hadn't asked it in quite that way, the answer might have been different. Without thinking more than a second, Javier shot back, "Perez."

That got a raised eyebrow. "First name Miguel?"

"No, Diego." He shrugged and grinned. "It's my middle name anyway. Just reverse them. Diego Javier Perez."

"Birth date?" He rattled off the numbers.

"Any home address?"

"No."

"Are you a citizen of Ecuador?"

That threw Javier. "Ecuador?" he asked, slightly astonished at that small country being singled out.

"It's where the company is headquartered. Rodriguez Shipping, Guayaquil, Ecuador."

Javier snorted amusement at himself – he hadn't even learned the name of the company he was now working for yet. "No, not an Ecuadorian."

Frontera carefully checked a box, then turned to face Javier. "Then I am required to tell you, and make certain you understand, that you are completely and totally responsible for any and all taxes required by your home country. You must find out how much you will owe, arrange to save it, and arrange to make the payments. If you do not, you alone will be held liable. The company will do _nothing._ Intiende?"

"Si, se intiendo."

"Bueno. So what country _are_ you from?"

"United States." He'd emigrated officially at sixteen along with Ava.

"Position: Chief Cook," Frontera narrated his entries. "Starting salary," and named a figure in US dollars.

Javier made a surprised face. "That's not bad."

Another wry grimace. "Out to sea forty-five weeks of the year, we have to offer good money or nobody would take it." He made a few more entries, then closed the file. Turning back to Javier, he pointed towards a cabinet by the latter's elbow and told him to open it. "Employee handbooks in many languages. Find one you read _well_ , and take it. Please do read the whole thing. Any questions, see my clerk." Javier nodded, and took one in Spanish.

"The Chief Cook is also responsible for maintaining the ship's stores," meaning the supplies, mostly food, "and running the little sailor's store next to the dining hall. The Steward and the Clerk have been taking care of them for the past two weeks. Have them show you how, and you take it over immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Speaking of the Steward, how are you getting along with Kim?"

This brought a genuine smile to Javier's face. "Fine. He's a good guy, easy to get along with."

Frontera grunted. "Good. This is where I tell you 'my door is always open', but I sincerely hope you don't appear in it very often."

"I'll do my best!" Javier laughed. Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, he started to get to his feet.

"Don't forget those," Captain Frontera reminded him, pointing to the handbook and printouts. Javier picked up the two pages of info on Miguel Perez and stuffed it into the handbook, then turned to leave.

For a very long time after that, he was never sure if that was the best thing he ever did, or the worst.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note:** Don't take medical advice from a random fanfic story! I'm just throwing out bullshit here for the sake of my story, and I'm probably completely wrong, to boot. Mea culpa and a large chunk of salt._

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

The following morning, after gently but firmly compelling Letty to "pretend to be human" by getting up, showering, dressing, and eating some breakfast (all of which her patient complied with silently, if mechanically), Nurse Carole escorted Letty to her first sit-down appointment with Doctor John McDaniels, the Division Chief. Doctor John, as _everyone_ called him, absolutely looked the part: medium height and build, dark hair greying at the temples, and an air of implacable calm, competence, and compassion. He already knew the basics of her case, of course, including the general timeline; no one on the floor could have avoided it.

Carole brought her in and sat her in one of the visitor's chairs in front of the doctor's desk, received his thanks, and left, closing the door softly behind her. The doctor and Letty sat silently gazing at each other for over a minute; he always let the patient take the lead, at least at first. Finally, Letty said with a sigh, "So, what do I have to do to get out of here?"

Doctor John smiled. "Convince me that you're not just going to make another suicide attempt."

She scoffed. "Why not? What have I got to live for? Nothing. Not one damn thing." He didn't even have a cool painting for her to look at, unlike Christian, she thought fleetingly.

"What about your baby?"

Letty stared angrily at him for a moment before nearly coming unglued. "What the _hell?_ I don't know how you found out about Jacob, but _forget him._ I am _not_ his mother any more. I _gave up_ ALL my rights last year. It's _done – "_

Doctor John was holding up both hands. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ Hold on there." Gaining her glowering silence, he rested his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "I'm not talking about Jacob – whoever he is," he added aside. "I'm talking about the baby you're carrying now."

She wasn't sure whether to be flabbergasted or outraged. Both together sounded about right. _"What?!"_

"Letty... you're pregnant."

A beat, then she began shaking her head. "No. No. No. This is _bullshit._ What the _fuck_ are you trying to pull?"

"I'm not pulling anything. We do a routine pregnancy test on every female who gets admitted, and if it comes back positive, we do another, more thorough one to reconfirm." He swiveled his computer screen around so she could see it, pointing out her name at the top, and then the two lines reading 'Pregnancy (hCG) Series: POSITIVE'. The second one was followed by a number. "You are definitely pregnant. And judging by the amount of chorionic gonadotropin in your system, you are at least two months along." He leaned back again. "So unless you were cheating on him, that baby is definitely your husband's." He fell silent then, watching her absorb the bombshell news.

Without her consciously realizing it, one hand crept across her lower belly. "I'm... I'm pregnant?" she finally said. "With Javier's baby?"

"Mm-hm. Without a doubt."

"But..." He watched as the next realization hit her. "What about all the drugs I took this last month? And the alcohol? Would that have... affected the baby?"

"It's possible," he said as gently as he could, hiding his appreciation of her saying _baby_ rather than the clinical _fetus_. "But at this point, if it had, especially with severe effects, you most likely would already have miscarried. So we can go on the working assumption that everything is normal – but I strongly recommend a full series of prenatal tests once you reach the appropriate stage of pregnancy, to be sure." He paused to let that sink in, then continued. "The absolute _best_ thing you can do, of course, is to _stop all drug and alcohol use_ , right goddamn _now._ " He didn't usually swear at his patients, but once they had sworn at him, he would adopt it as appropriate.

Letty was still staring, shaking her head, inches from returning tears. "I can't..." she began, then tried again. "I can't do this... I can't do this alone..."

Now they were getting somewhere. He leaned forward again. "Is going home a possibility? Family? I know you're not from here. Where are you from?"

She ignored that last. "No. No. That bridge is burned to ashes, and there is _nothing_ in the world that can rebuild it. I've tried. There's nothing. Nobody." Nothing in the world could ever induce her to show up once more on her mother's doorstep, especially not needing help. She wouldn't receive anything but a slap, anyway.

"Any other friends you can call on? Have called on? Anyone who would help with anything, even small?" He let it trail off as she thought.

"Christian," she murmured, looking out the window.

Doctor John shrugged. "They don't have to be religious. That's certainly not a requirement for helping others."

"What?" Letty looked at him sharply, lost, then caught on. "No. That's his _name._ Christian."

"Oh," he gave a small laugh. "I'm sorry. What's his last name?"

"Stalker. No..." She waved that off. "That's what I called him." She thought for a moment, then remembered, saying it more to herself than the doctor. "Woodhill." She didn't see him write a quick note. "But I can't call him again. I've done that too many times. I can't keep imposing on him."

"Why don't you let him decide?"

"Put him on the spot? Of course he'd say yes, even if he meant no. Besides, his wife hates me. She wouldn't give me a dime to keep me from starving to death. Forget it."

"Okay. Anyone else?"

"No. There's no one." She looked away, out the window at the old oak. "I keep needing help, but I shouldn't. I keep falling down, but there's no one around. And I shouldn't. Why do I keep needing help? I'm an adult, I should be able to take care of myself! I'm just a piece of shit." Two tears finally escaped and streaked her cheeks.

"Letty!" Doctor John called to get her attention again. When she looked, his face was full of compassion. "Letty, you're not a piece of shit. _Everybody_ needs help, all the time! Yes, everyone – even me. The difference is," he stopped for a second, trying to find the kindest way to put it. "The difference is that most people have some sort of support group around them; family, friends. People they can call on for anything from... a ride to the airport, to borrowing ten dollars, to a shoulder to cry on. And most of the time, those little things stave off the big things, so they don't become full-blown crises – but even if they do, the support structure will still help. Your misfortune is that you simply don't have that support group. That's the only difference. So you feel you have to handle everything yourself, which works for the little things, but not the big things. But needing help – ever – doesn't make you a piece of shit. It makes you normal. And human."

Letty was staring at him. "I wish somebody had told me that a long time ago," she said honestly.

His expression turned wryly heartfelt. "I suspect there are a whole _bunch_ of things that nobody ever told you, that you really needed to hear. And I wish to heaven I could keep you here and tell you them myself." He shook his head. "But I can't. What I _can_ do, however, is offer my assistance in finding whatever help you need outside of this hospital, wherever you settle in. Send me an email, and I'll do some research. Okay?"

She didn't respond, but he powered on, needing to return to the main point. "But the thing is, now you've got a decision to make. A big one."

"What's that?" She wasn't following.

"What are you going to do about the baby? Will you keep it, raise him or her, so they know who their father was, and their mother?" He paused. "Or will you give the baby away, send it off into the unknown, and never see them again? So you'll never know them, and they'll never know you – or Javier?" He was deliberately stacking the deck. "Or worse yet – will you cut this life short before it's even begun?" A beat. "Or yours?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered, unable to look away, her face full of shock and grief.

"You need to decide," he replied gently.

"Well I don't have to decide right this minute, do I?" she practically wailed, and he smiled, abashed, and eased off.

"Of course not. I'm sorry. You have some time."

Letty gasped, as if she were surfacing from a deep pool. "I can't... I can't..." She couldn't even finish the sentence. She waved him off and stood, turning towards the door.

"Can we talk tomorrow?" Doctor John called after her.

She stopped for a moment, turned partway back, and nodded, then stumbled out into the hall, letting the office door swing closed behind her back.

Doctor John stared at the door for several long minutes, reviewing what had happened. Finally, he nodded. She'd make the right decision.

Turning back towards his computer to make his usual post-appointment notes, his glance fell on the business card leaning against his desk phone, and he stopped and sighed. He hesitated a long, long minute, then realized he had no choice, so he picked up the phone and made the call he dreaded, but was obligated to make. Mrs Pereira was sober, alert, and stable enough for some careful questioning.

* * *

Back in her room, Letty sat on the side of her bed, staring out the window at the gently waving oak treetop branchlets. Her mind was a chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions. She was _pregnant?_ With _Javier's baby_?

Slight motion reflected in the glass caught her attention, and she shifted her gaze. There he was, standing behind her shoulder. His face was full of the kind of rapturous wonder she wished she could feel, that she imagined he would really show at this news.

" _A baby? Our baby?"_ Javier's voice was feather-soft, a whisper on the breeze.

"I can't... I can't do this."

" _Yes you can. You're my magician... you can do anything."_

She shook her head, denying what he was trying to give. "I can't do this alone."

" _You're not alone. I'm here."_

Another head shake, more definite, more desolate. "No you're not." Suddenly a wave of rage at her feckless husband's senseless, untimely death and desertion swamped her, and she reached for her pillow, swiveled around in an instant, and hurled it through the empty space where he should have been standing. _"NO YOU'RE_ _NOT!"_ she yelled at his departed ghost, before collapsing onto the bed in a puddle of hopeless, helpless, furious tears.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

Javier Pereira was not an introspective man – if he had been, he likely would never have gotten into his chosen profession, or at least not stayed in it for long. But on those long, lonely, sleepless nights at sea, sitting on his bunk with his arms draped over pulled-up knees, or up on deck tucked into a perch out of the wind staring out across the moonlit ocean, he couldn't help but raise the hood on his psyche and start gingerly poking at the morass beneath. And inevitably, painfully, he came to some realizations.

The first, distressful even though it was a no-brainer, was simply put: he was done with contract killing. It had been a long time coming, and wasn't just because the FBI had apparently at long last caught up with him. Since he had gotten together with Letty, he'd had it in the back of his mind that if he could just get her past her squeamishness, as he saw it, they could team up and really rake it in. But as he watched her fall completely apart after killing Teo and the security company guy, he'd been forced to realize that dream would never work. Quite simply: if she _had_ "gotten over it", she wouldn't be the woman he'd fallen in love with. She'd be changed, so drastically, that _they_ just wouldn't work any more. It was her very vulnerability and fragility that held him so close, that made him want to simply take care of her.

And at the same time, he realized that _she'd_ been working on _him_ all that time, and it had borne fruit. She'd finally wrenched him around to her way of thinking, of viewing his profession. What was it about his upbringing that had left him with that odd blind spot in his otherwise well-developed code of ethics, about the intrinsic value of human life? No need to search far for that answer. His monster father, Oscar, had never believed in it, nor passed it on. But that was a whole other can of worms, one he still couldn't face just yet.

And finally, there was that last, horrific job. He'd never taken a contract where the client wanted to witness it, and it should have thrown up huge red flags, but he'd been too blinded by his intense desire to give Letty a home of her own, where she could be safe and secure always, and raise Jacob, and he could take care of them both. So he had charged the man a cool million cash, and gone ahead with it, instead of walking away.

Listening to the couple – he'd forgotten their names by now – bicker and snipe at each other as he did his final preparations, he'd wanted to bash their heads together and yell, "just get a divorce and walk away already!" But of course it was already far too late: the man was already close to death from the poison she'd been feeding him, and just wanted to watch her go first. So Javier had carried out his wishes. That had been different from every other time, too: he'd never before used any method that had required such close, intimate contact with the victim for so long. He could still feel her struggling underneath his hands, feel her lose, feel the life seep out with her last gasping breath. It had sickened him in ways he'd never expected.

But the final straw had come after, as he walked out and was getting into his car, when he heard the gunshot with which the dying husband had ended his own suffering. _You fucking COWARD!_ Javier had screamed at him in his head. _If you KNEW you were going to do that, and you had the guts to do it, you should have had the guts to kill HER yourself! Why the hell did you drag ME into it?_ But of course there was no answer, never would be. Javier was left with the nauseated feeling of having been damnably used and then thoughtlessly tossed aside, another ugly first. Returning home to find Carlos' lifeless body and the taunt from Teo had only cemented his uselessness – which was then reconfirmed tenfold when Teo did the end run around him and forced Letty to kill him, utterly ruining their beautiful dream home for both of them. _What the fuck are you good for, then?_ Javier had asked himself over and over while he cleaned up the house and disposed of the bodies, never getting a good answer in return.

No, he forced himself to admit now. He was done with that profession, and would never return. He would never take another life for money or other gain. He still felt it a point of sick pride that he had only ever accepted contracts to enact justice denied to the victims or their families by the official legal system, never any for political or business reasons, or personal enrichment. It was true that, as he'd told Letty one night, he hadn't always listened closely to the stories, but he listened enough to know the category, if not the details. Oscar was the political killer, and Teo the one for personal, monetary gain. Not Javier. Not that it made any difference any more. He was done.

The pain from that decision came from the fact that he knew he could get the money he needed for the dark web search pros to find Letty with just one or two quick jobs. But he just couldn't do it. Nor could he face Letty and tell her that was how he had found her. She would never be able to accept it, and it would taint their relationship all over again, perhaps irrevocably. And he wouldn't be able to hide it from her. He had wrestled with the problem all that first night ashore in Singapore, even picking up his phone a few times to look online for jobs, before putting it down again. By dawn, he knew he wasn't going to do it. He was going to have to get the money some other way - and the only one available was what he was doing now: ship's cook.

* * *

For all the pain and difficulty, however, he had better luck figuring himself out than his predecessor. Not even his shipmates could help; Miguel Perez had apparently kept so much to himself during the ten months or so that he had been on board that he was virtually not even present. Nobody remembered him talking much about himself, not even Jiho, who as his assistant had spent more time with Miguel than anyone. All the steward could add to the meager bits of information was that Miguel had apparently been married at one point, with a child, but that child had died of an illness, and the marriage fell apart soon after. Miguel had also alluded to being a line cook in a restaurant, but the Mariposa seemed to have been his first ship duty. The pages of his personnel file that Javier had received from the Captain contained only blanks for both next-of-kin and home address.

It was the double stack of porn magazines filling one of the drawers under the bunk that really took Javier aback, however. They seemed to be the only personal item the man had left behind – there were no letters, no pictures, no gadgets or trinkets. He flipped through a couple of the magazines, but they weren't to his taste. Besides, he felt distinctly uncomfortable even looking at them, constantly aware that he was poking through another man's private stash. It felt almost indecent. Javier had never been much of one for porn, anyway; and now his memories of Letty and their wild and/or tender times were infinitely more compelling than any glossy print could be – even if he did end in unacknowledged tears most times. He could not escape the agonizing questions: where was she? Did she even _want_ him to find her? Or had she moved on, made good her escape from him at last, as Mike had blurted out? Her specter, and that of Miguel, hung over his shoulders like avenging angels, driving him out to run the informal jogging track around the main deck, around and around, until he had at last worn himself out enough to sleep.

He ended up leaving the magazines in a corner of the crew lounge unannounced. They were gone within a day.

He made it a point, however, not to copy Miguel's personal habits, and took to spending time in the crew lounge with his shipmates when he could. He had always been good at charming people; after all, he'd spent years ingratiating himself with his intended victims until he could get them alone to do the job. Now he turned that talent to a much different goal: simply making friends, and found he was even more successful at it than he had hoped. And then the inveterate loner surprised himself by discovering that he actually _liked_ many of them, and enjoyed the late mornings and evenings shooting the breeze and playing cards and pool. He often thought of his "father-in-law" Rob, and how much he would have enjoyed it too.

The crew – all men – were a mix of Latinos from South America, and southeast Asians – mostly Koreans, like Jiho. Like everywhere in the international transportation industry, however, the most common lingua franca was English – everyone spoke at least a little of it, enough to get the job done.

The cameraderie of long voyages at sea made Miguel's aloofness even more mysterious. That might have been partially to avoid complaints, Javier told himself wryly; although minimally technically proficient, Miguel had not displayed any of the excitement or passion about food that a truly great cook like Javier brought to the kitchen. Indeed, he had been content with dishing up the same half-dozen quick, bland, boring meals to the crew in tight rotation.

Not so Javier. He took to the challenge of this unique situation with relish. An ordinary line cook, as he explained to an interested Jiho, was highly constrained by both time and the tightly-controlled menu of the restaurant, pushing out the same few dishes made to exacting specifications, in less time than they really deserved. There was absolutely no place for creativity in most restaurant kitchens – unless you were the head chef. That individual still operated under constraints, only different ones. He could experiment and design new dishes, but they had to fit in with the restaurant's theme, and be adaptable to mass production of so many dishes per shift – including figuring out what could be done ahead of time, to make the time between the patron ordering the dish and the moment he takes the first bite as short as humanly possible. An independent private chef, as Javier had been so many times, was only constrained by his imagination, and the desires and budget of his client.

A ship's chief cook was constrained in different ways: first of all by what was in the ship's stores, which on the Mariposa ran to the most basic of commodities, from sugar and flour to frozen or preserved meats and canned goods. The second constraint was volume: he had twenty-eight mouths to feed, twice a day at specific times. (The noon and midnight meals didn't count; they were mostly cold salad-and-sandwich buffets, or quick made-to-order items like hamburgers and grilled cheese.) He made a bet with Jiho, though, that he could go for two full weeks without repeating a breakfast, and two full months without repeating a dinner. He won both bets, and _nobody_ complained.

It got even more fun when, after a month on board, Captain Frontera handed Javier a ship's credit card with a five grand limit, telling him he could pick up anything he wanted at the port markets – as long as it was destined to feed the crew – ALL of the crew. Fresh steaks and seafood, and exotic fruits and vegetables began making appearances immediately, to everyone's pleasure, and he started exploring exotic spices, too.

It was on his way back from one such excursion in Malaysia that he interrupted a crew member, a Korean named Lee Hyun, in a rather intense conversation with a small group of local men on the dock, in the shadows under the bow of the ship. They broke off as he walked by, ineffectually hiding the package that was being passed to Lee as they all stared belligerently at Javier, but he just waved a hand and kept going. He didn't care what the crew bought or got into on shore, he was nobody's minder. He'd forgotten about it by the time he reached the galley to put away his day's prizes.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Everything about Letty was different the next morning when she reentered Doctor John's office, and his eyebrows shot up. He had nothing to compare it to, but Christian could have told him: the old Letty was back – careless, defiant, outwardly confident, scared shitless inside.

He watched her walk to his desk and sit in the same chair, then ventured a guess: "You've made a decision."

"No," she replied, startling him. "I don't really have _any_ choice here." His quizzical expression begged her to go on. She took a breath, steadying herself to say it. "We were only married for a couple of months, but Javier... was _everything_ to me. And now he's gone. And this baby – you're not lying to me, are you? I really am pregnant?" He reconfirmed it with a nod. "Then this baby... is the _only_ piece of him that I have left, or ever will. It and the wedding ring he gave me," she added, holding up her hand to show him. "I can't just... walk away from that. I can't ever..." She wouldn't even say it. Then she gave him a shrug. "So I've got no choice. But I have absolutely _no idea_ what to do, how to do it."

Doctor John smiled at that. "That's where _I_ come in. As I said yesterday, send me an email when you're settled, and I'll do the research, and send you information on all the programs and groups in your area – including the best counselors I can find."

" 'Programs'?" She queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't roll your eyes at government programs, Letty. They are _made_ to help people like you, who just need a little help getting started. Housing assistance, job training, even SNAP benefits – food stamps. Look at it this way: you're using them for their intended purpose, to help you – and your baby – get the best possible start in your new life, until you are able to support the both of you."

Letty swallowed a sarcastic retort and said meekly, "Okay."

He went on. "The other half of that, is where _you_ come in. And I'm giving you an assignment." Letty's eyebrows shot up at that, and he grinned. "And if you do it properly, it will take the rest of your life. But it's important." He leaned forward, speaking earnestly. "I also spoke yesterday about having a support group, how important it is, how _everyone_ needs to have a circle of friends and family they can count on. Since you have none, your task is to build one. And since family isn't an option in your case – " he held up a hand as she took a breath " – and I completely understand that – you need to build your own circle of friends. So that's your assignment. I want you to have at least two – and three would be better – _good,_ close friends, ones you can say anything to, who will be there to help you. I'll get back to that in a second. I also want you to gather no less than six casual friends. They can be coworkers, neighbors, people you meet in any formal or informal groups you join. But you need to be able to say hello to people you know when you go places."

Leaning back again, he took a moment to assess the woman across the desk. "I'm not sure about this, so please forgive me if I'm wrong, but I have the impression that this next bit comes under the heading of 'things someone should have told you a long time ago'. But this is important. If you want those close friends to be there when you need them, you need to be there for them, first. No using somebody and throwing them away, no ghosting them when they get 'needy' or inconvenient, no lies or stories. Only honesty and caring. These are people you should see every day, or nearly, people you spend a lot of time with, and get to know really well. And you help them, and they help you. With anything." Letting it go at that, he waited for her reaction.

"In other words, I need to stop being such a selfish bitch," was her wry rejoinder.

He shrugged. "I don't know you well enough to assess that."

That got a snort. "Oh, very diplomatically put. Well done!"

He smiled, but let it go. "So there is your prescription, Mrs. Pereira. You need to tend your garden of friends, daily. The harvest will be yours in all the years to come: days and nights of friendship, support, and love. You see, the real benefits of close friendship isn't just in those emergencies, but in the day-to-day. Having someone to go shopping with, or having a laugh over drinks – coffee, in your case," he amended quickly. "Even introverts need friends – and you don't strike me as very introverted."

"I do need lots of alone time, to recharge. But I like being around people, too."

"Then make sure you get plenty of both. And take your time – I'm sure you know this, but friendships, especially close ones, aren't built in a day. But I want you to do something for me. One year from today, I want you to send me an email, and tell me about your support group. That's our follow-up appointment. Will you do that?"

She couldn't help but give a small, helpless laugh at his "prescription". It was certainly the strangest she'd ever heard of. It was a mark of how frightened she was, she knew instinctively, that she was even listening to him without rolling her eyes and scoffing. The one thought that had been clear in her mind the moment she woke up that morning was that if she was going to keep and raise Javier's baby – and she really had _no_ choice about _that_ – if she wasn't going to raise a monster, or run the risk of having the child taken away from her, then she could not continue living as she had been all her life. But she had zero idea what to do differently, or how. So she had swallowed her pride and come to Doctor John for his advice, as well as Nurse Carole. Whether she would follow any of it remained to be seen, but at least she was listening. "Okay," she finally said with an air of humoring him.

He grinned back. "The good news is, you're one up already!" Doctor John reached for a small piece of paper at the side of his desk and handed it across to Letty.

Taking and reading it, she saw it had "Christian Woodhill" and a phone number on it. " _Christian?_ " she asked with shock.

"That's his new cell phone number," he pointed out. "His old one, the one you have, no longer works."

"You _talked_ to him?" He nodded. "What did you tell him?" She wasn't sure whether to be outraged or grateful.

"I told him who I was, and that you are my patient. I told him of your husband's death – he was very sorry to hear it – but that you would be released soon, and needed help and a place to go. As soon as the words had left my lips, he said, and I quote, 'Tell her to call me at once. I'm here for her, and I want to help her any way I can.' "

Letty wasn't sure she was buying it. "What about Rhonda? His wife?"

"He didn't mention her, and I didn't ask. Oh! He did give me one more message for you. He said that you have now missed seven hundred and forty-three check-ins, and he's tired of covering for you."

Letty goggled, and then burst out laughing, one hand flying up to cover her mouth as the laughs tried hard to turn into tears. She wasn't sure which won out.

He let her control herself, then said pointedly, "So put that number into your phone at once."

"My phone's dead," she remembered. Carole had given it back to her the day before, along with her now-empty bag – no charger.

"Ack! Idiot!" His slap at his own head gave the target of that insult as he opened a side drawer, then startled her with a non-sequitor. "Apple or Android?"

"Apple."

He pulled out a bundled charger and handed it to her. "Don't look at me," he demurred. "That came from Lost and Found. This, however," as he reached for a large bottle of pills beside the computer monitor and handed it across as well, "came from our own pharmacy."

She read the label. "Prenatal vitamins."

"Take one a day, _every_ day, starting _today._ "

"Yes, doctor," she assented wryly, slipping charger, bottle, and scrap of paper into one oversized smock pocket. Letty considered the man for a moment. "Does that mean I'm being released?"

"I don't see any reason to hold you," he began – but was interrupted by a knock on the office door, followed immediately by said door opening. Doctor John shot a startled look at the two men entering, then shot to his feet, spluttering. "Excuse me, _gentlemen!_ You don't just walk into a doctor's private office, _especially_ when he is with a patient!"

"Sorry, Doctor, but we couldn't wait. We need to ask your... patient... some questions, urgently," replied the man in the lead, looking at Letty. The sarcastic pause on the description was lost on no one.

She had swiveled around at the interruption, and was now staring back at him. "I remember you," she said warily, also rising to her feet. "You were at the morgue," she finished.

He nodded, giving her a tight smile. "Special Agent Danvers, of the FBI," he confirmed, holding out a hand, which she ignored. So he waved it at his companion, instead: "Agent Thompson." The two agents wore nearly matching three-piece suits, which didn't reassure anyone. They both looked their parts, from buzz cuts to shoe shines, and in fact, were nearly interchangeable.

Letty had gone from wary to outraged in a flash. "I told you already," she nearly hissed, "I'm not telling you _anything... ever."_ She turned beseeching eyes on Doctor John.

The doctor was furious, but knew he was cornered. "I'm sorry," he told Letty apologetically, swallowing his rage. "They _do_ have the legal right to ask you questions." He couldn't resist adding to Danvers, "Although their timing – and their manners – leave _much_ to be desired." Danvers ignored him.

"And _I_ have the right to remain silent!" Letty shot back. Matching actions to words, she plopped back onto her chair, crossed both arms and legs, and fixed her gaze straight ahead at the near corner of the doctor's computer screen with an absolutely blank expression. She had realized instantly that she had neither the time nor the wit to construct a believable story to confound the FBI agents, nor did she have any idea what they already knew, so she simply did the only thing she could, and shut them out.

For the next fifteen minutes, she held herself in rigid control, not giving them a single word, nor the slightest reaction to any names, dates, or locations, nor so much as glancing at any picture they tried to show her. She did her best not even to hear anything, distracting herself by concentrating on running times tables in her head.

She did let herself hear one thing, however, an answer to the doctor's question (for which she silently blessed him): Javier's sister, Ava, had come across the country, claimed his body, had it cremated, and took the ashes back to Savannah. Letty couldn't be located at the time. Letty was infinitely relieved at this; she couldn't have handled any of that, now or ever. Ava would take care of her brother in death as she had in life, giving him a peaceful final resting place.

She was aware in her peripheral vision of Doctor John hiding a grin with one hand as the two agents slowly became more aggravated at her blank stone wall act. Finally, Danvers snapped at her viciously, and the doctor had had enough. "Gentlemen, you are getting nowhere. And you are beginning to badger my patient, who is still under my care. I must ask you to end this, now." He stood up again, giving them a stern glare.

They didn't leave very graciously, but they did finally gather up their pictures and papers and leave. "We'll be trying again at another time," Danvers tried one last time to get a reaction from Letty, but she continued to ignore him, so at last they left, closing the door behind them. _Great_ , she had thought, _one more thing to deal with._

When she was certain they were gone, Letty took a deep breath and blew it out, covering her face briefly with both hands. Doctor John came around his desk then, leaned back against it, and put a solicitous hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Dropping her hands, she looked up at him and gave a tiny smile. "Not your fault. You didn't have any choice." Remembering, she added softly, "Thank you. For asking about the body."

"I don't know whether you were absorbing any of that," he asked tentatively, continuing when she shook her head, "You might want to retain a lawyer, too." She sighed, heavily. What exactly had precipitated that, she didn't want to know.

The doctor paused, then asked, "Will you still write to me? Both as soon as you're settled, and in a year?"

She snorted softly, and nodded back with a smile. "Yes, doctor," was her mock-meek-patient reply.

He reached across his desk for a business card and handed it to her. "Then put all that info into your phone as well."

"I'm still being released?"

Another nod. "It will take a couple of hours to process all the paperwork. That'll give you time to charge your phone. The nurse will come get you when it's done." As she stood, he asked, "May I give you a hug?"

Letty was surprised, but appreciated both the impulse and the courtesy. She nodded, "I'd like that," and put her arms around his shoulders to hug him back. His arms were strong and steady, reassuringly solid around her torso.

"I believe in you, Letty Pereira," he said softly into her ear. "You're strong, and smart. I believe you can do this. It will take a lot of time, and a lot of tears and pain, but you can do it."

That made her gasp, and she held a hand over her mouth to swallow the threatening tears. Then, "Thank you," she whispered, then pulled away, turned, and walked out of his office.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

Javier stepped out of his cabin on the Mariposa and turned back to close his door and lock it. As he did so, movement caught the corner of his eye, and he swung his head back to see. Someone was standing on the far side of the door to the stairwell at his end of the hallway. At first, all he could see through the inset window was their back and head. Then, as the man turned slightly, Javier saw it was Lee Hyun. He hadn't seen him in the crew lounge since passing him on the docks two nights before, but that was not unusual, what with changing shifts and twenty-four-hour coverage.

What was unusual was how the man was acting. He seemed incredibly nervous, shifting around and breathing heavily – and what was he doing there in the stairwell? When he turned his head slightly – not enough to glimpse Javier in his preoccupation – Javier saw Lee's face was twisted with anxiety and fear.

Javier finished locking his door and took a step towards the stairwell to check on his shipmate – but Lee chose that moment to begin climbing the stairs. As he ascended, Javier glimpsed what the man was carrying, and it made him jump back out of sight until Lee had passed the landing, then let himself into the stairwell to follow as silently as he could.

Lee was carrying a pistol.

Lee reached the top of the stairs and stood, half-dancing, on the landing. Javier knew the only thing at that level, beyond that door, was the bridge and Captain's office. What was he _doing?_

Suddenly the ship's loudspeaker crackled into life, adding another piece to the puzzle. That Captain Frontera should address the crew was not that unusual, but what he said certainly was.

"Attention. All hands to action stations. Repeat, all hands to action stations. We are currently being hailed by an idiot in a speedboat, who thinks he is going to board us. A show of strength should persuade him otherwise."

Javier was about to call out to Lee when the man took one last deep, steadying breath and charged through the door onto the bridge. Javier raced up the last flight in time to hear Lee bark out in his uncertain English, "Do what he says! Or I shoot!" Glancing quickly through the window inset into the door, Javier saw what he feared: Lee was about six feet in front of him, pistol held out at arms length, pointing it straight at Captain Frontera's head a few feet beyond.

Frontera's eyes flickered at the door then back to Lee; he had seen Javier. The other two officers currently on watch were too far away to the sides to do anything. It was up to him.

"What do you think you are doing?" Frontera ground out to Lee, keeping his attention forward. His voice was steely fury. He slowly turned to face Lee fully.

The question and movement covered Javier easing the door open and slipping through. As Lee repeated his first demand, Javier took one step forward. Then he rapped out, _"LEE!"_

As expected, Lee jumped, and began to whirl around with the pistol backhand to face this surprise threat. But Javier was faster. Gratitude that Lee had turned towards his right – his gun hand – flittered through his mind in a split second – the pistol was pointed away from him as he lunged to grab it out of Lee's hands. The two men grappled for a moment – the gun firing off a round towards the ceiling, deafening everyone – then First Officer Julio Taveras came from the side in a flying tackle, grabbing Lee around his knees and sending them all sprawling. But Javier had wrenched the gun away as they fell.

He rolled to his feet and pointed the gun at its former owner, yelling at him to freeze. The man's face became a study in surprise, disappointment, anguish and fear in quick succession as he stared up at Javier.

Frontera tossed a quick thank you to both heroes, then told Taveras to use Lee's own belt to secure his hands behind his back. Then he swung back to the bridge equipment. He flicked on both the radio and the loudspeaker, so the crew could hear what he said next to their would-be pirate. "Attention, speedboat. Your accomplice in my crew has been arrested. Your pitiful plot has failed. We are not stopping. Repeat: WE ARE NOT STOPPING. If you don't want to be crushed, get the hell out of my way." Without turning off the mike, he gave the next orders over the air, too. "Helm, full speed ahead. All hands, prepare for impact – what little there will be." Setting down the radio handset mike, he growled to the second officer to grab the binoculars and write down every detail he could see about their would-be assailant.

Javier could now finally see out the bridge windows, glancing away from Lee propped up against the wall, and what he saw astounded him. Frontera hadn't been sarcastic: it really was a speedboat that was trying to threaten them. A large one, built for the open ocean, yes, but a speedboat nevertheless. There couldn't have been more than fifteen people on board, and that would have made it very crowded. It hesitated for several seconds as the Mariposa continued plowing straight for it – had they really thought sitting in front of the container ship (not a megamax, but big enough) would stop it? But finally the men in the Mariposa's bridge heard the speedboat's engines roar to life, even from that distance, and it scooted out of the ship's path, made a U-turn, and began zipping away towards a nearby headland.

They were on approach to Hong Kong, winding their way through the myriad outer islands towards the big commercial port docks. Dozens of other ships and boats of all sizes could be seen near and far – though definite lanes could be discerned from the traffic patterns.

Frontera watched it go with a grunt, then stood his men down and returned them to duty before switching over to another radio frequency. Then he began sending out a mayday to alert the Chinese naval authorities of the attempted piracy, including their ship name and position, and what the second officer had identified on the speedboat, including its last heading. It wasn't long before police speedboats could be seen in the distance, fast approaching with lights flashing.

The sight sent shivers through Javier. "Capitán," he called in Spanish. When Frontera glanced at him, he continued in that language, so that Lee could not understand, but all three South American officers on the bridge could. He started one thought, but couldn't help his overriding astonishment. "Are pirates common?"

Frontera shrugged, then nodded. "Sometimes."

"Are they always so... keystone kops?"

That got a bark of laughter. "No," Frontera added. "This was... an unusually stupid plot."

Javier returned to the reason he'd spoken up. "Capitán, please, don't give me to the police. Don't mention my name, or anything about me." At Frontera's puzzled look, he added cryptically, "Remember how I came to be on your ship?"

Frontera nodded comprehension, but gestured at Lee on the floor. "Then who took him down?"

"He did," Javier said, handing the gun off without warning to a startled First Officer Taveras. "He's the hero. Good work," he added to Taveras, slapping him on the arm before turning back to include Frontera, spreading his hands in rejection. "I was never even here."

"Then get back to the galley where you belong," grunted Frontera gruffly, but a tiny grin was peeking out. He understood.

Javier tossed him his ironic two-finger salute, and hit the door at a run.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

Three hours after she left Doctor John's office, Letty was sitting in a half-full McDonald's a few blocks away. She'd managed to grab the last booth by the restrooms, and sat with her back to the rest of the patrons, staring out the window. It was the best approximation of Alone she could manage in public.

The hospital had a small fund for indigent patients, and so gave her a whole one hundred dollars in cash to get her somewhere – Nurse Carole looked a bit apologetic at the amount as she handed it over, but it was the best they could do. Still, it was better than nothing. And she had the secondhand clothes she had been given along with hospital flip-flops. And she had her wedding ring on her finger, and her old phone, replacement charger, and bottle of vitamins rattling around in her old padded bag. All her remaining worldly possessions sat beside her on the bench in one compact space.

Charged does not equal connected, of course; as soon as the phone had enough juice to power up, she'd discovered her monthly prepaid subscription had run out while she was bingeing. But the first block away from the hospital, direction picked at random, had yielded an independent phone store, and she'd used some of her cash to get hooked up. It wasn't the same company they had been using, so she got a new phone number, but she didn't care. She felt better having her electronic pacifier in her hands ready to go, even if she had no use for it at the moment.

A few yards further on, her eye had been caught by the window display of a small boutique clothing store, her very favorite kind, and she hadn't bothered trying to resist. She wandered through the door and around the interior, checking out the clothes. Picking up one irresistibly cute top from the folded pile on a shelf, she came within a split second of slipping it nonchalantly into her bag as she had done a million times before, when the situation hit her and she froze. "Letty Raines Pereira, what are you _doing?_ " she whispered under her breath. She stood there, frozen into place, staring at the void, the top inches away from hiding as a small eternity ticked away... then, closing her eyes, she forced her hands slowly back down until the top was once more on the display shelf.

Taking several deep, gulping breaths, she whispered again, "And if you pick up another one, you're going to put _it_ back down, too, you stupid bitch. Or you're going to lose this baby, just like you lost Jacob." Steady again, determined, she opened her eyes – and locked gazes with the shop clerk, staring dead at her with an utterly blank expression from several racks away. Letty blinked first. Then she silently turned away, and made herself walk to the door.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" It was the clerk. "May I see your bag, please?" She was good: no expression on her face, her voice holding only a mild, polite request.

Letty handed it over with a wry grimace. "It's empty."

A quick look inside, and the clerk handed it back, looking a little sheepish now. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake."

Looking at her again, Letty felt the strangest impulse. "No, you didn't. Your instincts were right. I changed my mind. I have _got_ to stop." She took another deep breath, and plastered on a determinedly pleasant expression. "I'm turning over new leaf – starting today."

This brought a genuine kind look to the woman's face. "Good for you," she said, trying hard not to be condescending. "And good luck."

"Thanks. I am... _really..._ going to need it."

Now, twenty minutes later, Letty sat in McDonald's, shaking. She knew she needed to get moving. She needed to decide where to go, what to do, how to get started on this new life she had inadvertently, unwillingly, bought. But she couldn't get her mind to _move._ All she could do was stare out the window and try to shut out the noise and calm her nerves. She just kept breathing. That she could do.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" came once more from her side. A McDonald's employee had come to shoo the non-paying customer away.

Without looking up, Letty cringed, choking back tears, fumbling for her bag. "I know, I know, I'm going."

"No, wait, look!" came the unexpected reply. A tray of food appeared before Letty on the table: Quarter-Pounder with cheese, large fries, empty soda cup. "Lunch!" was announced, unnecessarily.

Letty looked up at her then: a preternaturally cheerful teenager with a big smile. "I didn't order – "

"I know," the teen held up a hand. "There's a guy who works in an office somewhere near here. He comes for lunch almost every day, and almost every day, he buys lunch for somebody who needs it. Today it's your turn."

Letty craned her head around, looking for her benefactor. "Who – "

"Too late. He's already gone." The teen picked up the empty cup. "What would you like to drink?"

"Oh... uh... Doctor Pepper, please." She was from the south, after all.

By the time the teen returned with the soda and a tiny cup of ketchup, Letty had herself a bit in hand. "You'll tell him thank you next time, won't you?"

The smile got even bigger. "I do," she nodded. "Every day."

When she was gone, Letty looked the tray over with tears threatening again, this time from the unexpected kindness of a stranger, who didn't even stick around to be thanked. She took a fry and dipped it in the ketchup, eating it with slow relish. Then she stopped, and forced herself to admit it.

"You can't do this by yourself, Letty Raines Pereira. Stop being such a stupid, stubborn, hostile bitch."

She took out her phone and unlocked it, called up Christian's new number, and hit Send before she could change her mind. A moment later, a warm, wonderful, familiar voice was in her ear, and it took a second for her to speak past the new catch in her throat.

"Christian? It's Letty."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

A day and a half after the aborted pirate "attack", while the Mariposa was (finally) docked in Hong Kong, First Officer Taveras walked swiftly into the galley after lunch and beckoned to Javier. "The Captain wants to see you."

A bit taken aback, Javier asked if there was a problem, but Taveras simply shrugged noncommittally, so Javier nodded to Jiho to continue the cleaning as he pulled off his apron and tossed it aside, then followed the officer out into the hall. Instead of climbing up to the bridge, however, Taveras led him off the ship, across the wide dockside, and into the massive, cluttered warehouse beyond, explaining that the captain was overseeing operations there.

As they came to an open area in the center of the piles of crates, boxes, and assorted piles of cargo, Javier saw that Frontera was talking with yet another man, a stranger in a sharp but comfortable-looking dark business suit half-sitting on a crate, listening intently. They turned to the newcomers, and Frontera thanked Taveras, dismissing him, then said cryptically to the stranger in Spanish, "This is the man, Señor."

Now Javier was getting concerned. He didn't like being singled out to strangers, especially when he had no idea what was going on. Frontera turned back to him and, guessing his thoughts from his wary expression, gave a tight smile. "I have not given you to the police, as you requested, nor mentioned you in any reports," he began reassuringly, before adding with emphasis, "but I _will_ tell the truth to the owner of the company when he asks." After dropping that little stunner, he made quick introductions, using Javier's assumed name. "Diego Perez, Chief Cook; Paulo Rodriguez, owner and CEO of Rodriguez Shipping." With perfect timing, a whistled signal came floating across the warehouse floor, and Frontera waved an acknowledgment before turning to the owner with an apology. "I must get back to work, Señor."

Rodriguez stood swiftly and took a step forward to shake Frontera's hand. "Of course, and I won't keep you. But I'm glad you are still with us, Isaac, old friend." Slapping the Captain's upper arm with his other hand, Rodriguez gave him a warm smile before letting him go.

Javier was still eyeing his ultimate boss warily. Rodriguez had an open, friendly face with bright brown eyes, laugh lines, and a ready smile, coupled with an air of both confidence and competence. A couple of inches shorter than Javier, he had the kind of trim body that an executive only maintains with dedicated, regular visits to a gym. A businessman's short hairstyle and clean-shaven face completed the image begun by his suit and polished shoes of a hard-working industry leader who loved to laugh. Javier took in all this in a single sweep, and found, surprisingly, that he _wanted_ to like the man, to trust him – but lifelong habits die very hard.

As Frontera walked away, Rodriguez turned his gaze on Javier, knowing he was being evaluated, and taking a moment to return it, before he offered a handshake. "I am indebted to you, Señor Perez, for the safety of my ship, its cargo – and its Captain, who is far more important to me than all the rest. Thank you."

Unsure, for once, of what to say, Javier merely shrugged self-deprecatingly as he returned the man's handshake. "Did you fly over from Ecuador because of the pirates?" he asked, grabbing the question almost at random.

"Of course!" Rodriguez seemed surprised. "When one of my ships has a serious incident, I go there to make sure everything is worked out. And an act of piracy, even if foiled, even if... what did you call it?"

Javier was confused for a moment, then remembered his comment, which Frontera had evidently passed along. "Keystone Kops?" he said with a grin, and the boss laughed.

"Well, definitely amateurish, that's for certain. But still needing investigation." Rodriguez motioned towards the crates he'd been sitting on a minute earlier. "Come and sit down, in my spacious corner office," he added with a mock-grand air. "So, Diego," he continued as they each took a perch facing the other. "I would like for you to tell me the story of how you came to be on my ship. Isaac told me what he knew, of course, but I would like to hear it directly from you." As Javier shifted uncertainly, Rodriguez held up a placating hand. "I'm not going to fire you. Isaac tells me you are an excellent ship's cook – and those are hard to come by. No..." He paused. "I am asking you to trust me. I value honesty," he ended simply, and then waited to see what the response would be.

Javier was struggling. He _wanted_ to trust the company owner, and had felt pulled towards him since catching the first glimpse. The man was magnetic. But still... this was asking a _lot._

Rodriguez was still waiting, a faint pleasant smile still on his lips – and it looked genuine. _Well, pendejo,_ Javier said to himself, _you wanted to start a new life, totally legit. You are going to have to trust people, and give them reason to actually trust you. This man seems like a good one to start with._ So he told him the truth – not about his former profession, but why and how he had come to be on the docks, to sell Miguel Perez a bit of coke. "Neither of us had any idea how much we looked alike. It was... mind-blowing." He didn't share what he had learned of Miguel since, not then. He described how they had apparently – from the news reports he'd gleaned later – been caught in unrelated crossfire, Miguel dying under the docks, while he himself had crawled unwittingly onto the Mariposa and become an unknowing stowaway. He made certain to express his gratitude to Captain Frontera for not tossing him overboard, and then giving him the chance to join the crew.

At the end of the recitation, they sat in silence for a moment while Rodriguez absorbed the news. "The disappointing thing to me is that Miguel was apparently using cocaine. I had no idea. I'm not a... rabid anti-drug crusader. I realize people have been getting high since the dawn of time, and will till the end of it. I _am_ rabidly anti-drug-trafficking, and have from the beginning done everything in my power to keep that business off of my ships and out of my company. If one of my employees is using anything, I try to help them, but I don't punish them unless it affects their job performance." It was quite a speech, but seemed to be a well-rehearsed one. Javier wondered briefly how often he gave it.

Rodriguez went on, considering. "But what strikes me as odd is how readily you did join the crew. Why was that? Why didn't you leave in Singapore, and return to the States?"

Javier stared away for a moment, thinking how to answer. Then he replied honestly, "I was at a crossroads. I want... I _need_ to start a new life. I had gotten into some... pretty bad situations." Let Rodriguez presume he meant dealing drugs; it was better than the absolute truth at this point. "I'd been a private chef before, and would like to get back into it. This seemed to be... a good step along that path. A good start, while I look for something better." Realizing he was dissing the job he fully intended to keep, he put up his own placating hand. "That doesn't mean I'm not giving the Mariposa one hundred percent, or that I'm going to suddenly disappear. I intend to put in a full tour of duty, and give a decent amount of notice before disembarking."

"What of family? Did you leave someone behind?"

Javier couldn't tell if Frontera had told Rodriguez about Letty, and his frustrated attempts to find or contact her. His thumb had automatically sought the bottom of his wedding ring and was rubbing it. He held up that hand to show the ring. "I was married, yes. But I can't find her," he explained simply. He waved off whatever the other man started to say. "I know _many_ ways, including many on the dark web. She's... apparently gone into hiding." Shaking his head, he looked away again, but not before Rodriguez saw the pain etched deeply into his eyes. He let it go.

"I am sorry," was his only – soft – reply.

They sat in not uncomfortable silence for a moment, then Rodriguez abruptly leaned forward, preparing to stand, saying, "Well, I should let you get back – " but at that moment, a bullet zinged through the space where his head had been a split second before, hitting a crate a few feet beyond and sending splinters flying in every direction with a tiny explosion. The report of a gun came from the far side of the open warehouse a beat later.

Rodriguez jerked around instantly, staring across the warehouse – but Javier plowed into him and pushed him to the floor just as more bullets came ripping through the air. Javier pulled his boss behind the crates on the floor and sat against them for a second, gasping for breath against the sudden fierce pain in his side – the old bullet wound usually didn't bother him unless he did something idiotic like that – and trying to see which way to go to escape. His face twisted in tired, disgusted fury. "I am tired of people shooting at me," he snarled to Rodriguez.

The tidy exec's eyes were huge in a pastry-pale face. "It's never happened to me before, but I agree with you," he replied breathlessly.

Javier snorted a laugh, then grabbed Rodriguez's shoulder. "This way," he hissed sharply, and pulled him along in a crawl until they got beyond the first taller stack of crates. Then they surged to their feet together and ran, dodging, as fast as they could through the maze of goods towards the far end of the warehouse. The occasional shot or hoarse shout from behind told them they were being rapidly followed.

"I was warned about kidnapping attempts all over the world," Rodriguez panted to nobody in particular, "but I never expected to actually be in one!"

" _DAMMIT!"_ Javier swore, trying to keep it quiet – they had found a dead end, no exit to the building. There was a warren of small, interconnected offices here, crammed with dusty, unused furniture and office debris. He pulled Rodriguez behind him into one room and put him behind some filing cabinets, out of view of the only doorway, while Javier made his skinny frame as small as he could in a tiny niche next to the entry, holding his breath to listen. He could hear at least two, maybe as many as four, men spread out and systematically searching for them. Their only chance was to jump one of them, get a weapon, and shoot their way out.

One man passed the doorway, glancing in, but he saw nothing, and continued on. Javier caught Rodriguez's eyes and motioned _shhh_ with one finger, then mimed groaning, holding his belly as if wounded. Rodriguez caught on immediately, and let out a soft, low moan. Javier grinned at him and nodded as he heard the man stop and turn back.

The gunman was no novice – he held the pistol straight-armed before him gripped in both hands, proper police style, pointing it rapidly around the room as he moved cautiously through the door. Unfortunately for him, Javier's niche hid him nicely from view until the gun was past his head. He lunged at it, grabbing the pistol and the man's hands with both of his and trying to rip it away.

The two of them wrestled madly for the pistol, and Rodriguez, watching wide-eyed from his hiding place, flinched hard as he heard the gun fire and somebody give a grunting scream. He couldn't tell who had been hit, as they slammed up against a desk and bounced off. Then another shot sounded, the pair seemed to freeze for a second, and one man slid bonelessly to the floor. Rodriguez was unutterably relieved to see his companion still standing, lungs heaving.

But he was also listing to one side. Javier was the one who had taken the first bullet. The pistol must have been pointing down at that moment, because the bullet had gone into his upper thigh. Blood was already soaking through his pants leg.

Pulling himself together, Javier ignored the wound as best he could, checking out the handgun. It was an ordinary pistol with a ten-round magazine inserted, six bullets still inside. Kneeling as best he could at the dead gunman's side, he patted his pockets and came up with a spare magazine, and nothing else. He stopped, staring at the body, registering several oddities, including the lack of wallet or anything else in the pockets. Something was wrong.

"This isn't a kidnapping," he realized. "It's a hit." He looked up at Rodriguez. "Who wants you dead?"

"Who wants _me_ dead? Who wants _you_ dead?" countered his boss, his meaning plain. Why assume _he_ was the intended victim?

"Hmm," Javier admitted the point wordlessly, then filed it away. They still had to get out of there. He struggled back to his feet, reloading the partial magazine in the gun and slipping the full spare into a front pocket for easy grabbing. "Stay behind me, Rodriguez," he ordered the other man.

"Wait," Rodriguez hissed. Javier looked at him sharply, puzzled, but his boss was already pulling out a large handkerchief and, half-squatting, tied it firmly around Javier's wounded thigh. Javier tried, not entirely successfully, not to grunt in pain. Then Rodriguez stood straight again and nodded at Javier. "Call me Paulo," he said, as friendly and reasonable as if they were standing on a sunny sidewalk in Paris.

One side of Javier's mouth quirked in a smile. "Javier," he replied simply. One of Paulo's eyebrows shot up as he registered the different name. Then he smiled briefly back, nodded firmly, and moved behind Javier's back, taking a light hold of his shirt. Javier took up the gunman's former stance, holding the pistol cocked and ready before him in his usual careful two-handed grip as they slowly, cautiously, moved out of the office.

They made it several yards away before a pair of shots whizzing by their heads signaled the next gunman. Javier whipped around faster than Paulo could follow and fired off two quick shots of his own. His found their mark, and the assailant fell. Javier glanced down at him as they moved cautiously past, stopped for a second and frowned. Something was vaguely familiar about him – but he couldn't take the time to place him. Shrugging, he moved on, Paulo still clutching his shirt.

On into the main area of the warehouse. Shots suddenly came at them from both sides, and Javier yelled at Paulo to get down as he swung from left to right, firing two lightning-quick shots in each direction. He got the first man, but missed the second. Paulo pulled him down behind the crate, Javier grunting again as his new wound screamed in protest, then he swapped out magazines and proceeded to pop up and trade shots with – apparently – the last remaining member of the assault team. Paulo hissed "Police coming!" in his ear, and then he heard the sirens rapidly approaching outside. Somebody must have heard the shooting and called the cops.

A bullet scored the top of the crate, inches above his head, and it infuriated Javier all over again. He popped up one last time and finally nailed the guy, just as heavily armed officers burst in a side door, yelling in Chinese.

Javier threw the gun out before him and struggled to his feet, raising his hands above his head. "Hands up!" he hissed to Paulo. "They'll likely shoot anybody the least bit threatening!" Paulo scrambled to comply as suddenly several assault-style police rifles were pointing at them.

But all at once, Javier's leg decided it had taken enough punishment and his knee buckled, collapsing him to the floor. Paulo grabbed at his companion, keeping his torso and head from banging on the hard concrete. Luckily, none of the cops thought they were attacking, and held their fire. They could hear many more policemen pouring through the several doors and fanning out to find anyone they could.

"Paulo!" Javier hissed, reaching up with a hand to grab the man's collar. "Don't give me to the police!" he pleaded, as he had with Frontera. He had no idea what might happen, on this other side of the world from the scenes of all his former crimes, but he couldn't take the chance. " _Please!_ " he added, obvious desperation coloring the word.

He had no time to explain, but somehow Paulo divined enough. "You just saved my life," he pointed out, and made a lightning-fast executive decision. "You're my bodyguard," he replied significantly. "You flew here with me. Got it?"

"Got it," Javier breathed as he nodded. "Thank you." Then, from adrenaline overload or loss of blood, he slid into unconsciousness, vaguely aware of Paulo shouting for an ambulance above his head as he slipped away into the warm darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

Letty stood and stretched, picked up her bag and slipped it on her shoulder, and joined the line to carefully climb down from the Greyhound bus. On the pavement, she stepped aside from the line and looked around, squinting in the late Florida afternoon sunshine – and there he was, solidly conventional, a welcoming smile lighting his face.

Christian spread his arms wide in invitation as he stepped forward, and she couldn't help but run the last few steps and fall into his hug, flinging her arms around his neck – and unexpectedly bursting into tears. He understood, of course, and simply tightened his arms around her torso, holding her steady as she sobbed into his shoulder, ignoring the echoing tears tracing his own cheeks.

* * *

After establishing where each of them was (Letty by the same method she'd used before – texting him her phone's map location), Christian had purchased her a Greyhound bus ticket – the station was only a dozen blocks from the McDonald's – and then augmented her funds by a couple hundred more dollars via Western Union, which had a counter at the bus station, for food and a change of clothes. He had offered a plane ticket, but she hated flying. Besides, there was something she needed to do along the way, that would take more time than a few hours' flight.

Letty Raines Pereira was even less introspective than her husband – there was far too much pain and anguish in her past and her soul to ever be able to poke at it in search of answers. She was a creature of action and reaction, not reflection. Nevertheless, she had used the several days it took the bus to bring her across the country to review her life, carefully cataloguing every mistake, every binge, every bad check, every time she had been busted for shoplifting or conning people or anything else – every single step that had led to her losing Jacob, first his custody, then his respect. She was determined to use the catalogue to reinforce her decision to _never_ drink, take drugs, or steal again. It was a bleak prospect for the self-indulgent, self-loathing thirty-five-year-old who had only felt alive when she was in Javier's arms, or when she was high, or putting on another personality along with a wig. She was certain that between missing Javier like her own skin, and the straightjacket she was putting on her own behavior, she would never feel the slightest happiness ever again. But it would be worth it. NO ONE would EVER be able to take Javier's baby away from her arms. NOBODY.

* * *

Getting herself under control again, Letty eased back from Christian's hug, wiping her face with her fingers and giving him the best approximation of a smile she could manage at the moment.

"Thank you. For rescuing me – again," she added wryly.

His smile remained natural and unforced. "My pleasure. I mean that." He pointed to her bag. "Is that all your stuff?"

"All my worldly possessions!" she replied. "I have finally learned how to pack light – _really_ light." Although she _had_ augmented her wardrobe with a quick stop at a thrift store on the way to the bus station, no one would suspect her bag held any clothes at all.

"Then let's go!" he laughed, and, keeping one friendly, supportive arm around her shoulders, turned and led her to his car, an old beatup Ford four-door sedan, sky-blue. By mutual, unspoken accord, they kept the talk to light inconsequentials.

First stop was a local burger joint for dinner. As they sat down, Letty reached across the table and briefly covered his hand with hers. "Christian... I'm sorry about Rhonda." She shrugged regret. "It's no secret that she and I didn't get along, but still... she was your wife."

"I _hated_ that woman," came his low, shocking, confessional reply, then, "But I also loved her. The classic love-hate relationship, I guess. But it has made the whole process... very difficult."

"How did it happen?"

"How do you think?" His voice was dry as a desert. "She was driving home in the Sprinter in the rain, going too fast, and skidded off the road, down an embankment, and into a riverbed. She didn't drown, though – there was no water in her lungs. Apparently she died on impact."

Letty shuddered, and changed the subject. "So how did you end up here in Panama City?"

He grinned. "I used to come down here with my family as a kid on vacation, and I always _loved_ it here. So when I was casting around for a place to settle after the accident, it popped into my head, and seemed a natural. I had the rest of that half million, and the insurance on the Sprinter – and Rhonda's life insurance – so I was able to set myself up pretty well. I still have to work, but I'm not at subsistence level."

"And no family to pull you anywhere else?"

"Not anymore," he replied, firmly closing the subject and taking a bite of his burger.

"So what am _I_ doing here?"

Christian gave her a long, level look as he chewed and swallowed. "You need a place to land – a place to start over. And you need somebody to look after you, to help you. I want to do that – I care about you. And _I_ do better when I have someone to look after."

"Have you ever thought about getting a dog?" she asked wryly, dodging the mushy stuff like she always did.

"I used to have one," he replied seriously. "He died suddenly, right about the time a particular striking, extremely infuriating brunette first walked into my office and kinda took over my life." He paused, tilting his head as though giving it some serious thought. "I may get another one, though."

"You should," she encouraged. "Let _me_ off the hook." But she wasn't serious. He could tell she was touched in spite of her flippancy.

Burgers eaten, they walked across the parking lot to the grocery store, and Christian followed Letty dutifully around with the cart, as she loaded it up (on his firm request) with her favorite things to eat and drink – and all the toiletries she needed to feel human. She wasn't feeling up to cosmetics, but he threatened to throw a tantrum unless she at least picked up the bare minimum. Half-tempted to refuse just to see him do it, she gave in anyway and found half a dozen cheap make-do's.

At last, the old Ford pulled into the driveway of a typical small Florida bungalow in a typical run-down Florida neighborhood filled with similar-sized homes in all styles, all built several decades before. A fashionable, trendy, upscale area this was not. "Welcome to Panama City Beach!" he told her happily, not a trace of sarcasm in sight.

Taking all the bags inside to the kitchen (it took three trips), she helped him put away the cold stuff before he said to leave the rest and gave her a quick tour. It didn't take long – a single great room in the middle stretched from the kitchen in the front to the patio door in the back. One end held two bedrooms: he had turned the one in front into an office. Leading her through the intervening three-quarter bathroom (shower only, no tub), they came into one with bedroom furniture, which he pronounced was now hers.

Bedding sets were still in their plastic cases on the queen-size bed alongside bare pillows. "I didn't open them up, because I wasn't sure you'd like them. We can exchange them if you don't."

Letty picked up the big comforter set and looked at the picture, smiling. "No, I do – I really do. You did good!"

Christian grinned. "I thought you'd like bold colors – but you didn't seem the frilly type."

She grimaced. "Definitely not. But I really like these."

"Then let's make the bed, for heaven's sake!" As they did so, laughing, one on each side of the bed, Letty couldn't help but reflect that she and Javier had never once done anything so... domestic. But then, they'd only stayed in hotels or Air B&B's during their short time together. She banished the thought firmly after wondering briefly if Javier would have done so well picking out sheets on his own.

Plumping the last pillows in their new cases and tossing them up to the head, Letty paused to take it in and grinned at her friend. "Thanks," she said simply. Her eyes widened then, and she turned completely around to face the far wall for the first time, her mouth dropping open. A very familiar large painting was hanging there – the one from his old office, where they'd first met. She remembered the name, "Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog". "You _didn't!_ "

"I did," Christian replied smugly. "I remembered how much you liked it, and thought you might like to have it in here to look at."

"I can't believe you still have it."

"Well, it's been through some shit, but I like it enough myself to keep it. Even if it did have to sit in storage for a year."

"Thanks," she said with quiet emphasis, and he nodded, then held out his hand again.

"One more bit for tonight," he announced, and led her through the great room to his side. His bedroom was comfortably masculine, well-furnished with heavy wood furniture. That wasn't his goal, however: he turned her towards the master bath and gave her a little push. And there, in the corner, was a positively decadent deep oval jacuzzi bathtub.

Letty's jaw dropped again. "Oh, _now_ I'm jealous!"

He laughed. "That tub is one of the top reasons I bought this particular house. And it's all yours – use it whenever you like."

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely. Would now be too soon?"


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

Javier filled his lungs with air, and slowly opened his eyes, finding himself this time in what was definitely a modern hospital room. He was hooked up properly to bits of monitoring machinery beeping gently over his head, and there was another blasted needle in his arm providing some kind of clear liquids in a slow drip. He felt like that mule had come back and kicked his ribs again – and his upper thigh, too. But most importantly, he was, "Still alive," he commented aloud.

"Don't sound so surprised!" came a dry rejoinder from his right. He turned his head that way to find Paulo sitting on a wide visitor's chair, grinning at him over an open laptop.

Javier grimaced back. "These days, I'm surprised every morning," he admitted sourly. As he fumbled for the bed controls, Paulo put his laptop aside, stood, and reached to put it into his hand. "Gracias." Head and torso raised halfway, he accepted a drink of water through a straw.

Paulo then picked up something small from the table next to the water glass, and handed it to Javier without showing him what it was. It clinked as it – they – fell into his open palm: two smashed bits of metal that Javier identified with surprise as bullets.

"Two? I only remember catching one."

"This time. They took the old one out from next to your ribs, too. It wasn't doing any more damage now, but..."

The two South Americans had been speaking Spanish, of course, and Javier reflected suddenly, as he delicately put the bullets back on the table, how pleasant it was to use his mother tongue instead of English. But the two bullets raised another concern. "I can't afford this," he admitted, looking around the room with sudden alarm.

Paulo laughed. "You've been in the US too long. Socialized medicine, remember? And whatever extras the hospital might want to charge you for, the company will cover." At Javier's puzzled look, Paulo shrugged, then said pointedly, "Well, you _were_ wounded on the job, after all. Even if it wasn't exactly in the course of your normal duties. I'd be a pretty poor excuse for a human being, let alone a company president, if I let the hospital saddle _you_ with costs for saving _my_ life." He paused. "That's _two_ debts I owe you."

Javier was unexpectedly touched. He fumbled for a moment, then managed to thank his boss again. But as he did so, another thought broke through, and he looked around at the beeping equipment, panic seeping around the edges. "I've got to get back to the ship. They're going to sail – "

"They sailed yesterday, with a new cook from the union. Isaac was quite upset – he says you are an excellent cook. But shipping schedules can't wait." At Javier's bewildered look, he added, "You've been here two days."

"Oh, _fuck._ " Ignoring Paulo's confused amusement, Javier nearly banged his head back on the pillow in irritation. " _Dammit._ " He fumbled to explain. "I _liked_ that job. I was _good_ at it. And I felt like I was _getting_ somewhere."

"Where are you trying to get to?"

"A new life. A new career – or an old one, really. I used to be a private chef. I'd _like_ to get back to it. I was hoping... the ship's cook would lead to something."

"Well, maybe it will. I have an idea – but I'll go over that later. However, I'll remind you, you did save my life. I'm not going to abandon you. At the very least, I give you my word, I will get you back onto one of my ships as chief cook – if not the Mariposa, another one."

Javier was feeling a little overwhelmed by the man's gratitude. He'd been saving his own skin, actually – Paulo's was a byproduct. But he wasn't going to turn down any favors. He managed another thank you, which was waved away like the others, then countered with the information that Javier's steward, Jiho, had packed all his personal belongings, which were now sitting in a suitcase in the little closet next to the bed - and Paulo had made sure Javier's phone (which Paulo had rescued from his pocket before the ambulance took him away) was there, too.

"First, though," Paulo went on, turning slightly to hitch one hip onto the bed next to Javier's knees, which he shifted to make room. "I need to ask you something serious." Deep breath for emphasis. "What made you think the attack was an attempted assassination? I talked to the police about it, but they are certain it was just a robbery, or maybe a kidnapping attempt. Why do you think it was a hit?"

Javier looked into the distance, thinking back. What had it been? He shook his head, dismissing the police theory. "They all had latex gloves on, and caps or hoods for their hair. The one I took the gun from had no wallet, no ID – and no tags on his clothes." He looked back at Paulo. "They were being careful not to leave any traces behind – but none of them wore masks. They didn't care if you _saw_ them – you weren't intended to survive."

"Or _you_ weren't," Paulo reminded him of the alternate theory, but Javier shook his head.

"No one would be going after me. Nobody knows I'm here. – Wait a minute..." He remembered the second assailant, who had struck him as familiar. Where had he seen him before? In a second, it came to him, and he told Paulo: "He was one of the guys on the dock the other night with Lee Hyun – in fact, he was the one handing him a package – it must have contained the gun."

"There, see? The two incidents are connected. Maybe they were coming after you for foiling the pirate attack."

Javier scoffed. "How would they know? The only people who know I was involved were the ones on the bridge – and you. And Lee. Is he still in custody?" Paulo nodded. "Has he said anything, do you know?"

A disgusted grimace crossed Paulo's face. "He said he'd racked up some big gambling debts, and was told this was how he could work them all off at once. He claims he didn't know any names, or any details, other than who he owed money to – and that was in Manila."

Javier waved a dismissive hand. "Then how would they have found out about me – especially in just two days, in time to set up a hit on me at the warehouse? They couldn't have known I'd even get off the ship – unless the Captain was in on it, and that I will never believe." Paulo shook his head in agreement at that. "Then it had to be you who was the target. So again: who hates you that much?"

"I have been asking myself that for two days, and come up with nothing. I can think of no one." (Javier could have told him that no hit victim ever suspected those close to him – who were the ones most likely to have set it up – but he didn't.) Paulo took a breath. "The only possibility is... I told you that I'm very much against drug trafficking. I refuse to have any of it on my ships. There have been contacts, offers... and threats, when I refused."

"Recently?"

Paulo thought. "No, not really. Nothing for the past few years. I thought they'd given up."

"Who was it? Big cartels?"

A nod. "As far as I could tell. I've never really looked into it. I couldn't say for sure. But they were talking about large amounts of drugs."

Javier looked away, thinking hard, then shook his head again. "That doesn't really make sense. One, it's been too long. And two... this was a shoddy, cheap operation, even the so-called pirate attack. Not much money. A big cartel, even an Asian one... they would have spent a LOT more money on it, and made a big point of it." Another thought occurred to him. "Is your habit of flying to trouble spots well known?"

Paulo made a face. "I suppose. In the industry – especially in my company, it would be known."

"How often does it happen?"

"A few times a year. But I travel about twice a month – that's why I have a private jet. For meetings, and inspections, with customers, or different port facilities." He paused, giving Javier a curious look. "What are you thinking?"

"I keep thinking about that one little speedboat, against a big cargo ship like the Mariposa. There's no way they could have thought they'd succeed, even with an inside man. It would never happen." He took a breath. "I think it was _designed_ to fail – or at least, if it succeeded, that would be extra. I think it was designed just to get you here, to Hong Kong, so they could do the hit."

"Bait? To lure me into a trap?"

Javier nodded.

The two men were silent for a minute. Paulo turned to stare out the window, absorbing the idea, while Javier studied his profile. Against all his expectations, he found he really liked this man, and realized he really didn't want to see anything happen to him – and not just because of his till-now-vague promises.

"The thing is, Paulo," he began hesitantly. He didn't want to drag him further down. "If I'm right, and this was a hit... it failed. And whoever set it up, whoever made the contract... they'll try again. If they hate you enough to try once, and it fails, they'll do it again. They'll keep trying." He shook his head. "You're not safe, just because you survived this time."

Paulo nodded slowly, as if he'd been thinking the same thing. Then something else occurred to him. He turned back to Javier, brows furrowed. "How do know all this? How do you think of these things?"

There it was, the question Javier had been dreading. He turned away, unable to look Paulo in the face.

"Diego? Javier?" Paulo added pointedly, as he remembered the other name.

That brought Javier's gaze reluctantly back around. Against his better judgment, his years of hiding who he was, he felt compelled to tell the truth. He _wanted_ this man to be his true friend. "You say you value trust, and honesty," he began in a low voice, and Paulo nodded. "Well, here it is. The truth. I know... because it's what I used to do."

Paulo's jaw dropped. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this. "You were a hitman?" he breathed.

Javier nodded. "I _was_ ," he re-emphasized. "I realize you only have my word for this, but I _swear_ , I'm _done_. I quit – _months_ ago. And I'll _never_ do it again." The realization he'd come to on those long, lonely nights on the Mariposa was set in concrete. "Like I said a few minutes ago, I'm starting a new life – at least, I'm trying to." He looked away again, at the wall, waiting for the axe to fall.

"That's a big change," Paulo commented. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around this revelation. "How do I know this whole thing isn't just a big, elaborate ruse to get you next to me, so that _you_ can do the hit?"

Javier laughed helplessly. "Paulo, you go down rabbit hole, and there's no stopping, until finally, you don't even trust _yourself._ " That didn't seem to help, so he went on. "I can give you three reasons – though again, you only have my word for it. But anyway... One, like you said, it's too elaborate. There's way too many moving parts, way too many things that could go wrong. Big, complicated plots like that happen only in the movies, or maybe if the target is some super-rich, super-important political figure. And forgive me, but who the hell are you? The next President of Ecuador?" he asked sarcastically, his meaning plain: what the hell was Ecuador, anyway, in the global scheme of things?

"Two," he went on, "there's too many people involved. I have _never_ worked with anyone else. I've _always_ been solo. And three," he reached again for the bullets and showed them to Paulo, "there is _no_ amount of money in the world that would _ever_ convince me to let myself get shot. None."

"It might have been an accident, or part of the plan that you didn't know about."

"If it had been, I would be so angry, I'd be singing like a bird right now, giving you every detail. _Nobody_ does that to me. And I have _never_ worked to someone else's plan, either – see number two. I'm solo – I _was_ solo," he amended, trying to emphasize that all that was in the past.

"Well..." Paulo conceded. "Forgive me. I had to ask." Javier wasn't at all certain he was the one who should be forgiving Paulo, but he wasn't going to push that. Paulo took a deep breath. "If I took you back to Guayaquil with me, would be able to find out who it is?"

"You should go to the police." On one level, he couldn't believe he was saying that.

Paulo shook his head forcefully. "With what?" He shrugged. "All we have is conjecture, no evidence of anything. They would call the police here, and they would tell them, 'it was just a robbery'. And that would be the end. No, they would do nothing – _could_ do nothing. Could _you_?"

Javier tipped his head, eyebrows flaring. "That's a big ask." He thought a moment, then shook his head. "The only thing I could do is pretend I'm going back into the business, and go fishing for the new contract – _if_ whoever it is does put out another one – and _hope_ that I land it. It's not at all certain."

"Well, that's better than nothing."

"The one thing we have in our favor, though..." Javier added thoughtfully. " _If_ it is someone in Guayaquil... In order for them to set up something here in east Asia, they would have had to go through the dark web. And that is something I am _very_ familiar with – it's where I used to get work. So if they do the same thing again – and having been burnt overseas, they would likely be desperate and angry enough to make the next attempt at home, where they feel they have more control – they would still likely go the same route. So I'd have a better chance of catching the contract."

"So will you do it? Will you help me?"

Javier found he couldn't give a direct answer just then. "What you _need_ is a security expert, to keep you safe at home. Do you have one?"

"A bodyguard? I don't want one. That would just be advertising that I'm scared and vulnerable, anyway."

But Javier was shaking his head. "No, not that. I mean... someone to look at your security systems, at home and at work, and how you operate and move between them. There are always things that can be done to improve your safety."

"Well, we have a very good, tight security at the office – and there's also security at the apartment building. In between? I'm not sure what you mean. You could help with that, too."

Still, Javier hesitated. This really wasn't the direction he wanted his life to go. Paulo saw, and – no dummy – guessed the reason. He held up one hand, giving Javier an unexpected grin. "Wait. Before you answer, let me tell you my other idea, the one I mentioned earlier. You said you wanted to be a private chef again. Well, I could use one." Javier couldn't help but look his surprise, and Paulo's grin broadened. "Let me tell you. I live alone, mostly – I'm divorced. Four kids – the two older ones are grown, and only come for Sunday dinner – sometimes. The younger ones are teenagers, and I have them every weekend from Saturday morning to Sunday evening. The rest of the time it's just me – but I never learned to cook, and I'm tired of frozen meals or going out every meal. Oh, and I like to entertain. About once a week, I have either a few people in for dinner, or up to a couple of dozen for cocktails and party food." He waved a hand dismissively. "Until now, I've been having those catered. But it would be nice to be able to offer food made in my own kitchen, by my own chef." He made a dramatic pause. "Could you handle that?"

Javier was bowled over. "That... is _exactly_ the kind of job I'm looking for. I could absolutely handle that."

"Then say you'll take the job. Wait, let me tell you the rest. There's a small one-room apartment attached to the penthouse – "

"Penthouse?" Javier interrupted him, and Paulo grimaced ruefully.

"I was still married when I bought it. But when we divorced, she didn't want it, she wanted a house. So I kept it. Never moved – why should I? It's completely paid off – so I won't even charge you rent for the apartment. It's been empty, unused for years - except maybe storage. But I'll give you a generous salary – how's eighty thousand a year?"

"American dollars?" Javier was confused.

Another grin. "Ecuador uses US dollars for its currency, so yes. And the cost of living, I'm told, is comparable. But for that amount, I expect you to be my Chief of Security, too – and do this other thing, as well. What do you say?"

One part of him was screaming at him to shut up and accept it, but he couldn't without a final check. "You offer me this – even taking me into your home, after what I told you about myself? What I used to do?"

To his credit, Paulo stopped and thought carefully about what he said. "Trust and honesty go both ways. I admit that it's... not without a small twinge of doubt. But... yes. I trust you. You have already proven yourself twice – three times, with your honesty today. And for some reason, I _like_ you. So yes, I am making this offer. Besides," he added off-handedly, trying to lighten the mood, "I _really_ do need a cook. And Isaac was _very_ upset to have to leave without you. I accept his estimation of your talents." A pause for a grin, then he went on, shaking his head with self-deprecation. "I don't mean to be praising myself, but you would not be the first person I helped to start a new life. If you could look through my company, my ships... you would find _many_ who were previously... on the wrong side of the law. They impressed me with their sincerity, as you have done, and I was honored to help them. I have never regretted it, and I do not think I will this time, either." Another pause, for emphasis. "So... do you accept the job?"

Javier blew out his breath in a half-snort, then rubbed his face with both hands. "I'd have to be a complete idiot to say no. Yes. I accept. I'd be proud to do it. Thank you."

Paulo positively beamed at that, standing up so he could turn and shake Javier's hand. "Good. I'll wait for you to get well enough to be released from the hospital, and we'll both fly back in my jet. In the meantime, you concentrate on getting better."

Seemingly wanting to exit before Javier could change his mind, Paulo quickly picked up his laptop, shut it with a snap, and walked out the door with a jaunty wave.

Javier, stunned, leaned back with his hands behind his head. Slowly a happy, gleeful smile stole across his face. One of his two chief goals had unexpectedly fallen into his lap. _Now I just have to stay on it, and make absolutely certain it works out – and stays working._ Even in his mind, his inner voice turned fierce and determined. _And then... I_ _will_ _find Letty._


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

The following morning, Letty slowly woke up from the deepest, most restful night's sleep she had gotten since the night Javier had not come home. It took her several long, groggy seconds to remember where she was: buried under a lightweight, pillowy comforter in her new room at Christian's house in the Florida Panhandle. Then the signals that had woken her up penetrated her nose again, and she sat up abruptly to get a good sniff. Coffee and bacon. She grinned appreciatively.

Slipping into one of her thrift shop outfits (Christian had run a quick load of laundry while she luxuriated in the bubble bath the night before), she padded out to the kitchen, finding her host cheerfully standing guard over a hot skillet. Half-closing her eyes, she put her hands out before her and made like a cartoon sleepwalker, murmuring "coffeeeeee, coffeeeeee", and he laughed and put an empty mug into one of them. After she poured herself a cup and doctored it just right, he handed her his mug as well, and sent her out the sliding glass back door. "It's a lovely morning. Why don't we have breakfast in the Florida room?"

"The 'Florida room'?"

"The screened-in patio. Down here they call it a Florida room."

"Ah. Gotcha."

When Christian carried two loaded plates outside a few minutes later, he found Letty sitting quiet and still at the table there, staring wide-eyed with delight out through the screens at the garden in full bloom surrounding the patio, filling the back yard to the tall privacy fence on every side. "This is... _beautiful,_ " she breathed, not turning her head.

"Thank you," he replied, oozing satisfaction. "It's a work in progress – but then all gardens are. You never really _finish_ one."

"You did this all yourself?" she asked, surprised.

"Mostly. The big shrubs and trees were here already, but I've added all the smaller things. Had to take out quite a bit of crap and weeds first."

"Never figured you for a gardener," she commented as she turned in her chair to face the table and picked up her fork. Breakfast was a large, loaded omelet with toast, and quickly proved to be a culinary match for the lush garden. "Or a cook, either," she added. "This is delicious!"

"I'm just full of surprises," he grinned mischievously, then turned a little more serious. "Even to myself. A lot of this is new to me, too." He paused, then said with an air of summing up, "I'm finally building a life here that really suits me – a quiet, satisfying life."

"What _are_ you doing?" she wanted to know. "Your job, I mean."

Christian grinned. "You're going to laugh. My first career was an educator – and I really enjoyed it – most of it. My second, in law enforcement – that one, not so much, though it had its moments. Now I've combined the two." He paused, and she raised her eyebrows. "I'm teaching GED and other remedial courses to inmates down at the state prison."

"You're kidding. And that's satisfying?"

"It really is. I really feel like I'm doing some good. I'm not getting to _all_ of them, but I'm getting to a lot of them." Grinning again, he put his fork down. "It started with my very first class. I was scared shitless, but I got up in front of two dozen inmates – this is a medium-security place – and I told them frankly: 'You're fucked. You know it, and I know it. The system is designed to fuck you, and keep fucking you, and the ONLY path open to you, that has the remotest chance – but no guarantee – of stopping the fucking, is education. And your first step on that path is right here. So can we please just cut the crap?' And believe it or not, it worked. I've repeated it in every class." He laughed. "Of course, I have an ace up my sleeve. I have _total_ control over who stays in my classes. If anybody is being a jackass, and only there to get out of a couple of hours of work, I just call the guards and have that person escorted out. They get the point real quick – I'm there to teach them, not babysit."

"Good for you," Letty told him honestly.

"So I have a satisfying job," he went on. "It doesn't pay real well, but it pays enough for my needs. And I have this house, and the garden, and I'm still writing, and I have a few groups I get together with. All in all, yeah... a nice, little, comfortable, satisfying life. I can see myself doing this for the rest of my life quite happily."

"No more robbing hotels, or nightclubs? Or palling around with reprobates like me?"

"I'll pal around with you any day, silly. That's why you're here." Without warning, he edged into seriousness. "I want to help you, Letty. You need a brand new start, and I want to help you get it – you and that baby you're carrying. I care about you, very much." He held up a hand. "For the record, now, I have _zero_ romantic or sexual interest in you. There's none of that going on. You are a very dear friend to me, that's all – but one who needs help, and I want to give it." Not letting her react to that, Christian leaned forward with his forearms on the table. "So here's the question. What is it _you_ want from life, Letty?"

"What do I want from life?" she began, ready to slide into her usual wisecracks, when without warning, the grief she'd been hiding from all morning swamped her, twisting her face and cracking her voice. _"I want my husband back!"_ burst out before she clapped a hand to her mouth and twisted in her seat, wracked with agony. Christian said nothing, looking out at the garden and giving her the space she needed, reflecting on his own painful memories.

It took a few minutes, but finally Letty was able to sit up straight again and drop her hands from her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay," he replied kindly, and meant it. "I understand." His head tipped to one side. "You know, I hardly knew Javier at all – the only time we ever spent more than a couple of minutes together was that night in the hotel with all of us – and in the Sprinter, before and after." He paused. "But I liked him. And not just because of how he was taking care of you. I liked him as a person." A small laugh slipped out. "That whole night, I kept thinking, 'if _all_ of my parolees had been like this guy, I would have _loved_ that job!' " Letty managed a tiny, shaky smile at that. "I never could quite manage to reconcile that side of him with... well, what he was accused of. I'm not going to ask you any questions on that – it's history now. But I can't figure out how you reconciled it, either."

"I didn't," she replied honestly, shaking her head. "I never could reconcile the bad and good sides of _anybody._ I just... loved the parts of him that I could." Her voice cracked again, and she stopped for a second to clear her throat, then gave a steady, level look across the table at Christian. "Don't try to tell me you didn't do the same."

Surprised, he thought a second, then nodded. "No. You're right, I did." Gazing steadily back at her, he added, "I wish I could give him back to you – I really do – but I can't. No one can. So, setting aside the impossible – for now – if you can – what _else_ do you want from life?"

She didn't answer for a minute, but he could tell she was thinking about it; possibly the first time in her life she'd considered that exact question. "I want to be safe. I want to be secure. I want to be happy – but I'm not holding out for it." She scrunched her eyes shut for a second, then forced herself on. "I want to be able to go through my day without having people looking sideways at me. Without them thinking – let alone saying to my face, 'you _belong_ in prison', and calling me all kinds of filthy names. If you can think of it, I've been called it." She'd been gazing out at the garden, but now she turned and spoke directly to Christian as a new vista opened up. She struggled at first for the words. "I want to have... to _make_... a safe... stable... comfortable home, that I can raise Javier's baby in, and _nobody_... can _ever..._ take him – or her – away from me. I want to raise them up to be a normal, well-adjusted, loving, sane adult – and have them still be willing to _talk_ to me when it's done, and not think of me as this twisted, broken, walking shitshow of a monster who can't be trusted, who ruined their life." Rushing the last few phrases, she ended on a little sob, squashing memories of things Jacob had said, the look of pain and disappointment in his eyes sometimes – or the expressions of disgust on her own mother's face.

"Those are good goals," Christian commented after a moment, bringing her back to the present. "Those are _really_ good goals. Will you let me help you get there?"

She nodded slowly. "I sure as hell don't have any idea how to get there myself." That reminded her of the previous time she'd said that, and she added suddenly, "I've got to send an email to Doctor John."

"Who?" He was startled.

"McDaniels – at the hospital."

"The one who called me?"

"Yes. I promised I'd write him an email when I got settled, to let him know where, and he promised in return that he'd do some research, and send me contacts in the area that would help me sign up for shit like SNAP benefits – and Medicaid for me and the baby." She didn't mention counseling.

He grinned appreciatively. "That's a great idea. I know some of the local offices, but some outside assistance would be great. I'm sure he'd think of things I won't." Likewise, he forbore to comment on the world-shattering incongruity of Letty Raines _ever_ going by the book, let alone applying for any kind of government assistance.

Letty grimaced. "I need a new email address, first – one that's a little more adult and professional than the one I've had all these years. Will you help me think of one?" He nodded. She swore under her breath, tiredly. "I've got to do _so many_ things – new driver's license, new copies of my birth certificate, marriage certificate... I've lost _everything._ " Her voice trailed off as the mountain kept growing in her mind.

Christian threw up a hand. "Whoa, there. Slow down. You don't have to do _anything_ right away – _nothing_ is so catastrophic that you can't put it off for a while. I mean it. Letty... you're going through some of the worst shit a human being _can_ go through. Losing a spouse, and the birth of a child, are right up there at the top of the list of trauma-inducing events in a person's life. You _need_ to slow down, take some time off, and let yourself _deal_ with them naturally."

"And do what?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Just... live... for a while. Stay here... sleep... eat... watch TV – "

"I hate TV," she interjected, but he waved her off.

"Surf the internet, listen to music, read books, go for walks on the beach – it's just five blocks that way," he pointed over her shoulder. "Just... take some time, and let yourself begin to heal. You don't have to rush into anything," he repeated, then offered a practical idea. "As you think of things you need to do, like your license, make a list of them on your phone. Then, _when and as you're up to it_ , you can start going through them one by one."

He could tell she was tempted. But, "How long can I stay here?" she asked with some trepidation.

"As long as you want. I mean it."

"Without even paying you rent?" She plainly thought the offer was too good to be true.

"What rent? Letty, I paid cash in full for this house; no rent, no mortgage. Same with the car. But I'll tell you what. If it makes you feel better, when you start having money come in, from whatever source, you can start chipping in for your fair share of groceries and utilities. How does that sound?"

She gazed at him for a moment longer, trying to gauge his sincerity, before she nodded. "Okay." Letting that go, at least for the time being, she gave a heavy sigh. "But I still need to find a job sometime. And keep it, for once. If I can figure out how."

Christian held up a finger. "I am going to change one word in that sentence. You don't need a _job._ You need to find a _career._ Something that you like to do, that you can sink your teeth into, that you can do for the rest of your life – or at least, for many years. Something that, well, maybe you won't ever _love_ getting up and going to work, but at least you won't _dread_ it every day. And preferably something that will pay you well – eventually, if not right away. Kids are expensive, and only get more so as they get older."

That all sounded great to Letty, "But I'm not _qualified_ for anything like that." She told him about her exciting typing skills – all of nine words a minute.

"You're not qualified _now._ While you're taking your time and adjusting to these traumatic life changes, you could also be using the same time to pick up whatever skills or certifications you need. Yes, I'm going to say those dreaded two words: community college. We have a pretty good one here in Panama City, with a couple dozen different vocational programs – everything from nursing to welding – but if none of them suit you, Tallahassee is within commuting distance, and there are a dozen or more colleges there, too."

"But in what?" She had honestly never given any kind of higher education any thought, ever since dropping out of high school.

Christian shrugged. "In whatever you want. Whatever strikes your interest. We'll go through catalogs – and I know some online vocational surveys – and see what hits you."

She wasn't done objecting. "And how am I supposed to pay for it?" College was expensive, that much she knew.

He waved that one away, too. "Don't worry about it up front. Find the field that intrigues and excites you, first, and then look into financing. You might qualify for scholarships, grants, job training funds, all sorts of things. We'll figure it out." He leaned forward to emphasize the next point. "The important thing is, like everything else right now, to _take... your... time._ You don't have to rush into _anything,_ and you _shouldn't._ We're talking about setting up the rest of your life, and your baby's life. Let's make sure it gets onto the right track. I know it's enticing to think about having everything in place by the time the baby's born, but that's completely unrealistic, and unnecessary. Some programs take a couple of years. That's okay. We'll all pull through together, until you're well and truly launched. Okay?"

Letty was feeling a little overwhelmed by the prospect. "I still feel like I should get a job sooner than that." Stopping herself, she scoffed. "And I can't believe I just said that."

That got a laugh from Christian, too. "Well, if you do, think of it as a temporary one, maybe just part time, while you set about getting those skills."

Looking away from his intense eyes to the colorful garden again, Letty tried to feel her way through the jungle of ideas he'd been throwing at her. After a while, she thought, _Maybe I_ _can_ _do this._ At last, she looked back at Christian again. "Okay," she agreed tentatively. "But I need to ask you to promise me something." The quaver in her voice alerted him to the importance of whatever it was. "I've heard that before, that I can stay somewhere 'as long as I want'. And it never works out. I tend to wear out my welcome amazingly fast, and I don't even know how. So I _really_... need you to sincerely promise me, that if I wear out my welcome here, please... _please..._ give me at least a little notice, so I can find a place to move to. Don't just kick me out to the curb."

The look in her eyes was tragic, and it caught his heart. How many times had she just been dumped like that, by so-called 'friends' and 'family'? He had witnessed one time himself, turned cruelly away by her own mother. Leaning forward again, he reached across the table and took her hand. "It won't happen, but I promise," he said sincerely. "At _least_ one full month's notice. And I'll help you find a new place, and move. I'll put that in writing, if you want me to."

One side of her mouth stretched in an ironic smile. "No. If you won't keep that promise without a piece of paper, you won't keep it with one, either. And what would I do, take you to court? I wouldn't want to stay where I'm not wanted, anyway."

"You are wanted here," he told her simply.

That brought tears once more to Letty's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

The hospital kept Javier for only another two days before releasing him – with many instructions and exhortations – to Paulo's care. They flew out of Hong Kong later that evening, beginning the long great circle journey around the Pacific, landing several times to refuel and let the pilot, Tony, rest. Paulo was cautious enough to also hire an English-speaking private nurse to accompany them to keep an eye on Javier, although the latter slept most of the way. (No cheapskate, Paulo then put her up in a nice hotel in Guayaquil for several days' vacation before sending her home first class, all on his dime.)

But at last, Paulo was showing Javier around his new home atop one of the several residential towers dotting the Ecuadorean port city. Stretching along one long side of the building, the penthouse (the mirror image of the one on the other side) boasted a luxurious master suite at one end, then three smaller bedrooms in between that and the spacious 'public' rooms of living room, dining room, and a jaw-dropping gourmet kitchen with large grill-top stove and oven, industrial-size fridge, two sinks, and humongous center work island. "What do you think?" Paulo deadpanned to Javier, who was simply agape. Javier slowly turned his head towards his boss, and simply laughed, then gleefully rubbed his hands together.

His new apartment, at the opposite end from the master suite, aside from having its own entrance from the outside hall, also connected via an unobtrusive side door directly to the kitchen. It was definitely meant for "the help": a large single room with a tiny kitchenette, but a decent bathroom. At present it contained only a twin bed, easy chair, big-screen TV on a stand, and a tiny table with a single straight-backed chair in the kitchenette – which consisted of sink, tiny fridge, and microwave.

But it would do. _Letty would be dying to redecorate this place,_ Javier thought to himself, and immediately added decisively, _So I'll just leave it for her then,_ as if the promise obligated Fate to allow him to find her.

The best part of the place was the sliding glass door, which led to a continuation of the same wide balcony that ran the entire length of the penthouse. Over the next few weeks, he would bring home an eclectic collection of planters and flowerpots, along with crates and small tables to put some of them on, and planted dozens of different herbs in them, until he had an amazing variety of fresh culinary herbs to choose from growing in a tame miniature jungle on his end of the balcony. A wooden Adirondack chair with footstool and side table to relax in amid his herb garden was the only furniture he added.

He and Paulo quickly came to an understanding of his chef duties, as well, which gave him spectacularly wide latitude. Paulo would let him know each morning what he felt like for breakfast, and continued to get lunch at the dozens of restaurants in walking distance from his office, but dinner each evening was all up to Javier – there was nothing Paulo didn't like or was allergic to. The weekends had their own rhythm dictated by the coming and going of Paulo's kids and their activities, but they likewise proved very appreciative and enthusiastic consumers of whatever Javier cooked up, although he relished the new-to-him challenge of cooking for teenagers: not-quite-kids, not-quite-adults. Nor was Javier expected to purchase foodstuffs from his (ridiculously) expansive salary; Paulo handed him a credit card on the first day, told him the (generous) limit, and paid it off each month without complaint. Javier was soon salting away most of his earnings in preparation for the future, whatever it might hold.

His secondary duties of Chief of Security were quickly dealt with, as well. Paulo's assessment of the security already in place in both the apartment building and his company headquarters (which took up an entire smartly-designed ten-story office building a dozen blocks away) was correct: Javier found no holes to plug in either place. The rest was a matter of getting Paulo to vary his commute, including departure times, routes, and means of travel, to be as unpredictable as possible; as well as simply putting down the paper and paying attention along the way. "No more work in the taxi," Javier told him, "you have _got_ to stay alert to your surroundings at all times!" It took some practice, but Paulo did the best he could. He also got Javier to teach him some self-defense moves in the apartment building's modern gym. Finally, Paulo also talked his Security Chief into coming along on his frequent trips abroad and acting as bodyguard; a chore that made Javier jumpy at first, but he soon settled into alert awareness.

With a great deal of caution and trepidation, Javier went back onto the dark web and built a new profile, quietly fishing for work in his new country. He shared none of that with Paulo, however, and would not until and unless he had something concrete. Nor did he accept any of the few tentative nibbles he received, of course, but reading through them to eliminate any that weren't targeting Paulo – all of them, as it turned out – was unexpectedly painful and difficult. All he could see was Letty's eyes, staring at him tearfully, and he was repeatedly swamped by an echo of the revulsion he'd felt driving away from the last couple in the storage shed. Had some long-dormant missing piece of his morality at last woken up? He wasn't brave enough – or introspective enough – to figure it out.

* * *

One Saturday afternoon a few weeks after his arrival in Guayaquil, Paulo's fifteen-year-old daughter Maribel wandered into the kitchen where Javier was chopping vegetables, asking what he was doing. He could hear Paulo in the living room, reliving with his thirteen-year-old son, Paulito, the boy's football game from that morning. The boy had games or practice every Saturday, and Paulo – an almost stereotypically conscientious father about such things – always went to watch, which made them the perfect hand-off mechanism for the kids' weekends with Papa.

"I'm making an Ecuadorean version of American fajitas for lunch," Javier explained, adding a description of the dish as found in US restaurants. He knew by then that communal dishes like that were favorite post-game meals among the Rodriguez family. "Have you ever had fajitas?"

"No," she replied, tipping her head so she looked at him through her eyelashes. "But I'm sure they'll be delicious, if you're making them."

He gave her a puzzled glance, but she looked quickly away, leaning over the island on her elbows to look into the various bowls of chopped food – a move which "just so happened" to show off her cleavage. She was a pert, pretty girl with long curly hair she wore loose around her shoulders, and as sweet as the day was long. Javier couldn't help but like all of Paulo's kids, but Maribel was something special. And here she was, flirting with him – or awkwardly trying to. This would never fly.

Putting his knife down, he wiped his hands on the towel at his waist, then leaned on the island himself on his two hands. "Señorita, may I be perfectly candid for a moment?" Wide-eyed, she nodded, trying to put on a worldly air, and Javier had to stifle a grin. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her.

"Please forgive me if I'm misreading the situation – I'm out of practice. But..." He paused a moment, then brought his left hand up before him, palm in. "I'm married. Very much so – even though she's not here," he added ruefully. "And you being the daughter of my boss... it just wouldn't be right for..." Suddenly flustered, he couldn't think how to end that sentence. Maribel was blushing furiously by that time as she looked away, having caught on at last, and now he felt abashed. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I really put my foot into that one," he tried to backtrack, but she cut him off.

"No, you didn't." She really was a sweetheart. " _I_ did." Both of them nearly cleared their throats and shuffled, but then she tossed her hair back, trying to be nonchalant. "You're too old for me, anyway," she proclaimed airily.

On the spur of the moment, Javier reacted with a heavy, disappointed sigh. "Yeah, you're probably right," he nodded reluctantly. "You should have somebody closer to your own age... somebody who... has the same goals and outlook – the same taste in music, movies... stuff like that." He nodded agreement with himself. "A boy like that would be much better for you."

"Or a girl," Maribel murmured softly as she shrugged.

That caught Javier up. "Ooooooh?" he queried, eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline.

Her face had turned comical as soon as the words had left her mouth, as she realized she'd actually said it aloud. "Oh... I didn't meant that like it sounded," she tried to brush it off.

Javier threw his hands up between them. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop. _I don't care_ ," he emphasized, then contradicted himself immediately. "Well, I _do_ , because I care about you. I want you to be happy. But as long as there is mutual respect and friendship, I don't care who the other person is, male or female." A pair of excited masculine shouts erupting from the living room made him swiftly glance at the door, but they were still involved in replaying the game.

"Really?" He could tell from her expression how much she wanted to believe him. He leaned over the island on his forearms, making sure his voice wouldn't carry too far, and she slowly copied him, leaning forward to hear.

"Really. I'm from the US," he reminded her. " _I_ don't bend that way, but it doesn't bother me if others do. It's no skin off my nose. Unfortunately," he added ruefully, lifting a hand to finger his schnozz.

"I _like_ your nose," Maribel offered with a twinkle. "I think it's quite handsome."

" _Thank_ you," he replied solemnly, then added confessionally, "But there _is_ a lot of it." She tightened her lips to hide a smile. "So," he went on, inviting confidences, "you like girls better than boys?"

"No," she said innocently, confusing him for a second. "I like both."

"Oh, good for you! More to choose from!"

"No, less, actually." Glumness itself. At his puzzled look, she elaborated. "Because whoever I like, has to be okay with me liking the other side, too."

"Ooof. You're right. I hadn't thought of that."

"Is it _really_ better in the States?" she asked wistfully.

He started to nod, then caught himself. "In most places. In some, it's still pretty bad. But it's getting better. And it will get better down here, too. I'm sure of it."

"Not soon enough," she said morosely. Then, suddenly desperate, "Oh, god, please don't tell anybody. Mama will _kill_ me, and Papa... oh my god."

He had to laugh quietly at that. "Whoa, stop," he said again, then pointed to his temple. "There are many, _many_ secrets up here, not all of them mine. And I've never told _any_ of them, to _anybody._ "

"Not even your wife?" Maribel asked slyly, catching him out.

"Okay. I've told her some – but only my own. Any secrets that aren't mine, I have never told, and never will." A breath. "But I have to add something. Obviously, I don't know your mother – I've never met her – but I think you're doing your father a disservice. I really think he's more open-minded than you're giving him credit for. I think he'd be okay with it."

"Maybe," she replied warily. "But I'm not anxious to find out. Kids get kicked out of families for that down here still."

"And not only that," he murmured, thinking of his own past. He nodded at her approvingly. "You're right. Wait till you're an adult – and self-supporting. Just to be sure."

Realizing suddenly that they were both leaning face-to-face on their elbows, only a couple of feet apart across the island, Maribel blushed again and dropped her eyes, and Javier felt a rush of affection for the girl. Taking a deep breath, he tipped his head, considering something.

"Señorita," he began. "I'd like to suggest something. A deal, just between you and me."

"What?" She was curious, not quite sure of him.

"Now that we both understand each other, and we both know perfectly well that it won't go... _anywhere..._ " He drew out the last word in heavy emphasis. "If you wanted to... practice flirting with me..." he shrugged, smiling, "I wouldn't mind. I could use the practice myself. I'm rusty," he admitted with a self-deprecating growl. He waited a beat, then held out his hand toward her. "What do you say?"

First she giggled, covering her mouth with both hands. Then, straightening up and obviously trying to act much older, she took his hand and shook it. "Deal." Another giggle rather ruined the effect, especially when he grinned more broadly, and brought her hand up to kiss it gallantly.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" came Paulo's pointed question from the swinging doors into the living room. Both Javier and Maribel jumped and straightened up swiftly, but Javier added a theatrical groan – while winking at Maribel with the eye away from Paulo so he couldn't see it.

He turned towards his boss, folding his arms across his chest and plastering an amusedly exasperated look on his face. "How is a cook supposed to find out what you like for your birthday, if I don't ask? Hmm?"

"Oh!" Paulo was startled. "Um... excuse me." And he turned and walked back out, but not before they caught a glimpse of his pleased smile. The two of them managed to keep their laughter quiet enough that he didn't hear.

Then Maribel leaned over the counter again, beckoning Javier to her with a finger. "Chocolate cake with berries and whipped cream!"

"Ooooh, that sounds good! What about you?"

She considered, but only for a beat. "The same."

"And Paulito?" Javier was a bit suspicious – with reason, it turned out.

Maribel's voice turned sardonic. "Ice cream. Chocolate."

"Well, that's easy. Wait a minute," Javier straightened up again, digging his phone out of his pocket. "I'd better write that down – and the dates." Calling up a new note, he held his phone in front of his chest with both hands, then looked up at Maribel with the air of a soldier awaiting the order to fire. "Okay, go!"

Her giggle really was infectiously sweet.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

Christian let himself in the front door one afternoon a few weeks later as he came home from teaching class at the prison, to find Letty sitting on his comfortable couch perusing, he discovered, the course catalogue from the local community college. "So how did it go today?" he asked genially, as he set down his briefcase and settled into his favorite easy chair.

"Surprisingly well, actually," was the thoughtful reply.

Doctor John had surprised Letty by answering her email in only three days, giving her a comprehensive list of local contacts for all sorts of things, including a number of psychiatric counselors of all kinds – and a couple of well-recommended defense attorneys, too. Up at the top, however, was the name, address, and phone number of a county advocate's office, a one-stop-shop for applying for any and all available government assistance programs. She had made herself call them right away (before she could talk herself out of it) to make an appointment – which had been for that afternoon.

" _We,_ " her hand on her belly making plain the meaning, "definitely qualify for Medicaid – and SNAP and WIC, too." She was referring to "food stamps" and the Women, Infants and Children supplement to them. "Mandy - the advocate - gave me the debit cards for those before I even left the office. The applications still need to be processed and approved, but they're filed now. I don't need housing assistance, thanks to you, and I probably don't qualify for traditional welfare – but she put me in for it anyway, just in case."

Mandy had also helped Letty make a list of documents she needed to replace, including driver's license, and birth, marriage, and GED certificates - she'd earned her GED during her last stint in prison. Then she had gone online and found each needed website, and printed out forms and instructions for Letty to pursue them.

After hearing of Javier's death, Mandy had encouraged Letty to apply for Social Security Survivor's benefits, but Letty had balked at that. "I don't know if he was in the States long enough - or if he even paid into the system," she admitted. Nor did she know his Social Security Number.

"Well, after you get your marriage certificate - and his death certificate, if you choose to," (Letty had balked at that, as well) "we can use them to find out his SSN, and then how much you might qualify for, and then you can decide whether to pursue it." Now at home, Letty chose not to share that bit with Christian, instead moving on to the last piece of news.

"And she backed you up on something else: depending on what school and program I choose, I could qualify for any number of grants and other means to pay for it. And there's always student loans, if worse comes to worst."

"Well, if worse _does_ come to worst, apply at the Woodhill Bank first." At her puzzled look, he hooked a thumb at his chest. "I still have a very tidy sum tucked away in savings. I think you deserve part of that half million, at least."

"Yeah, I do," she agreed, exaggeratedly earnest, then waved it off.

"So you're going through the catalogue? Anything strike your fancy yet?"

"No," she replied slowly. "I just..." Abruptly, she threw the paperback book across the room; the most Letty-like thing she'd done since her arrival. Christian was actually glad to see it – she'd been far too tame and subdued. "I honestly can't see myself doing _any_ of those things."

"Why not?"

"They're for... _normal_ people. People with _brains._ "

"You have a brain – a damn good one!"

"No, I don't. I'm a piece of shit. Never amounted to anything, and I never will. I'm fooling myself that I could ever..." Shaking her head, she let it trail off.

Christian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Letty... you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. I mean that sincerely. You could do _anything_ you put your mind to. Yeah, I know, everybody always says crap like that, but I _mean_ it. I've _seen_ you do... _amazing_ things."

She couldn't believe him, either. "That's just... pretending. I didn't know what I was doing. I was faking it."

"So? That's what people do, Letty. Listen, _nobody_ knows what they're doing when they first walk into a new situation – whether it's a new job, or a new career, or a new social situation. _Everybody_ just puts on an act, just like you do – did – and bluffs their way through, until after a while, it's familiar enough that they _do_ know. And then they go on. I'm no different – you think I knew what I was doing when I started this job? Or any of my previous ones? No! Just bluffed my way through until I did."

" 'Fake it till you make it' ?" She laid the sarcasm on thick as she quoted the popular saying.

"Yeah. That's right. That's a saying because it's true – because everybody does it."

" _Really_."

"Yeah. Really. And I'll tell you something else, too. Everybody has a dozen different roles that they play, too. Every relationship, whether it's a romantic one, or friendship, or family, or work-related – you treat your boss different from your subordinates, from your coworkers. And each one is a different 'role', that requires different words, actions, mannerisms. You liked to put on wigs and play roles you assigned yourself, but you also played different roles with your mom and Jacob, for instance. But the thing is – _none of those everyday roles are fake._ They are all real, genuine, legitimate aspects of the individual person. So even your playacting with wigs wasn't really all that outrageous, out of the mainstream. Just a little exaggerated." He stopped, taking a deep breath. That had been quite a speech, but he'd been itching to dish it out to her for months.

She was staring at him, open-mouthed. But he could tell she was thinking about it.

"So what you need to do," he went on, going across the room to pick up the book and bringing it back to hand to her, "is put on a new, 'student' role, and go learn the basics of a new job, so you can put on that role, too, when the time comes, and fake _that_ till you make it – until it's natural."

She waited till he had sat down again, staring at the book in her hands. "I need to think about all that for a while," was all she said.

"Okay," he agreed pleasantly. "No rush." He looked at his watch. "But for right now, it's time to put on another role. I've got to head out to my AA meeting. Will you come with me this time?" He'd been asking her for weeks. "Listen, please... just come once. Just one time. You don't have to say _anything._ Nobody in this group does the stereotypical 'Hi, I'm Andy, and I'm an alcoholic' bullshit speech anyway. We don't do speeches at all. We just talk in a group. But you don't have to join. You can just sit there and , just try it _one time,_ and I give you my solemn promise, I will _never_ mention it again."

Letty's head had rolled back onto the couch, and she sighed with exasperation. "All right, all _right,_ if it will get you off my back! Let's go!"

* * *

Well, Christian's Alcoholics Anonymous group _did_ meet in a church social hall, but the chairs weren't set up auditorium-style in rows before a podium, but rather in a large circle. About a dozen and a half men and women attended, putting on big sticky labels with their first names in big letters, and quietly chatting with their neighbors until the circle was filled. A tall, lanky man with light brown hair and mustache then got the ball rolling, introducing himself (unnecessarily) as Stephen, the group leader, then going quickly around the circle, asking everyone to simply say their name. Christian introduced Letty as his friend, who was visiting that evening, but said no more.

As Stephen opened the floor for discussion of whatever the members had on their minds, Christian leaned over to whisper in Letty's ear that Stephen was also a licensed clinical psychiatrist, specializing in forward-looking cognitive behavioral therapy, rather than backward-looking psychoanalysis. Letty glared at him and looked away.

The talk was informal, as individuals brought up things that had happened the past week, or other things they wanted some feedback on, and other group members chimed in and answered. Stephen reminded them all at the start that he allowed no negativity in the circle, but it seemed rather pro forma and unnecessary; everyone wanted to be upbeat and supportive.

Letty found herself staring at the floor, as her thoughts drifted away. She had a _lot_ to think about: everything that Christian had said at home, as well as her appointment earlier. The advocate had listened sympathetically to her story (although Letty had hardly told her _everything_ ), after promising that whatever she said would stay "strictly between my ears", even ostentatiously setting down her pen and folding her hands. The kindness had nearly overwhelmed Letty, unused as she was to receiving it from anyone. And more tonight, from this circle.

Letty had always divided the world up into not two, but three types of people: Us Sheep, Wolves, and The Lost. Us Sheep, the largest group, always did everything in crowds, followed trends and fads, went to popular places simply because they were popular, and most importantly, constantly drew the world as Us vs. Them. Letty had never once in her life felt like an Us, an accepted member of any group larger than two, so whenever she heard someone using such divisive rhetoric, she automatically and subconsciously associated herself with the Thems, whoever they were. She mistrusted Us Sheep as naturally as breathing.

Wolves were people like her grandmother, Alice: people who sailed through life doing whatever they wanted, giving zero fucks along the way. People who always knew what they were about, never lacked confidence, never found themselves outside a party secretly wishing they were part of it – no, they invariably _were_ the party. They _set_ the trends that Us Sheep followed blindly, but Wolves never looked back to see who followed. All her life Letty had desperately wanted to be a Wolf, but deep down, she knew she was just another one of The Lost. They were the outcasts, the loners, not part of any groups, but not strong enough to be Wolves. They stumbled through life getting tossed by storms and bruised by people, with neither the shielding of the masses nor the armor of fuckless living.

Letty had been Lost since the day she was born.

But sitting there, thinking about what Christian had told her, that _everyone_ faked it, and _everyone_ wore different masks, some new ideas occurred to her.

Maybe it was okay to be faking it, to be unsure, to not really know what she was doing.

Maybe her outward attitude was real in itself, real enough to count – a legitimate 'role', as Christian called it.

Maybe she _could_ be a Wolf, after all.

Maybe she already _was._

Maybe it was okay to be a Wolf with some issues, some insecurities, some gaps in knowledge, and occasionally a fuck to give.

Maybe it was even okay to have a group of other Wolves to hang around with, to have fun, and help each other. A Wolf Pack. You could even call them a group of friends, like Doctor John had been yammering about. Maybe they didn't all even have to be Wolves.

Even as she thought them, they seemed like such simple ideas, but they still rocked Letty to the core.

About that time, she suddenly realized everyone in the circle had stopped talking, and glanced up, completely unaware of the tear that had traced her cheek. Half the people were looking at her. She glanced wildly around, then came to stare at Stephen, who was also looking at her, eyebrows raised as if in invitation. He saw the panic in her eyes, though, and raised a hand immediately.

"You don't have to say anything, Letty. That's fine." Making himself look around, he grabbed a thought he'd had earlier and turned to a man across the way. "Tom, why don't – "

But Tom had held up a hand to stop him, then silently pointed it back to Letty. Looking back to her, Stephen saw her mouth had opened as if about to speak. So he tipped his head again in invitation. "Letty?"

The trouble was, she felt prompted to say something, but didn't know what, or where it was coming from. Then Christian, on her left, reached over and picked up her hand and held it, smiling slightly and nodding in encouragement.

Her voice was barely more than a cracked whisper. "I... I lost my husband, about three months ago. Suddenly. He was shot and killed." It was still _so hard_ to say those words. "And so I went on the mother of all benders, drugs and booze, to try to kill the pain." She grimaced, as a round of murmurs of recognition came from the circle. "Of course, it didn't work. I woke up in a hospital. And that's when I found out..." Deep breath. "...that I'm pregnant." She stopped for a moment, but nobody interrupted. "This baby... is the only thing I have left of him, or ever will. But I know... the _only_ way they'll let me keep it – him – her... is if I _never..._ touch another drop of alcohol, or another pill – or whatever... or steal anything," she made herself add, _"ever_ again _._ " Then she shrugged. "So here I am." She dropped her eyes to the floor again, waiting for the verdict.

"Well," Stephen started, incredibly kindly, drawing her eyes back up to him. "As reasons go, kids are right up there at the top. I'd be willing to bet that at least half of all people in AA are here because of their kids – including me." Several others around the circle nodded their heads, a couple half-raising their hands. "That's a good reason. And we will _all_ do whatever we can to help you, any time."

"I'm not doing the twelve steps, though," Letty warned him, all prickles. "There is _no_ atoning for some of the things I've done - and those bridges are burnt to ash."

"That's okay," Stephen laughed. "Strict adherence to the twelve steps isn't a requirement for this group - it is for some, but not us."

Again, several others nodded – but then, a middle-aged woman three chairs to Letty's right suddenly leaned forward, holding out an open hand to Letty. She had short blonde hair, trim figure, and kind, bright green eyes. Her name tag read "Sandy". "You're not alone," was all she said.

Letty hesitated a moment, but Sandy's hand never wavered, and finally Letty reached out and grasped it. "Thank you," she whispered. She was floored.

* * *

The formal part of the meeting broke up shortly after that, although only a couple of people had to leave immediately. The rest hung around, chatting with each other in a slowly roiling party mix of twos and threes. About half of them came up to Letty and Christian one by one, greeting Christian and welcoming Letty again, hoping she'd come back, volunteering to help any way they could. Some of them asked if they could give her a hug – the first time, she turned puzzled eyes on Christian, who hurried to explain: Stephen had at last conditioned all of them to ask before hugging – and 'No' was always acceptable. After that, she agreed to each hug, a bit nervous, but oddly comforted.

The last one to approach was Sandy, who handed Letty a business card containing just her name and cell phone number and a stylized smiling Sun. "Letty, I'd like to offer myself as a contact, even a second sponsor – or first, if this lunk won't do," she added, smiling at Christian. "I don't work, so you can call me literally _any_ time. I know the two of you are good friends, but I've found that for women, especially, it _really_ helps sometimes to have another woman to talk to."

"Thank you," Letty said, for what felt like the hundredth time, but she really meant it.

Sandy tapped the card. "I wrote something on the back, too." Letty turned it over, to find an address and a weekly day and time. "I also run a widow's group, that has nothing to do with AA, but I'd like to invite you to try it out, too." She grimaced, waving off objections. "I know, a bunch of women sitting around crying over their dead husbands doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but I promise, we do a _lot_ of other things, too, and even manage to have some fun, while we're supporting each other." She turned sincere, then, reaching out to touch Letty on the shoulder. "But I think you might be surprised how much it helps to have people around who really _get_ you, who truly _understand_ what you're going through."

Letty promised she would come at least once and give the group a try, and Sandy gave each of them a hug (after asking) and turned to leave.

"Stop. Grinning." Letty ground out between clenched teeth, not even looking at Christian.

"Who's grinning?" Christian grinned broadly at her. "Am I grinning? No one's grinning."

She swung her head around then to glare at him, then punched him on the arm. "No one's hitting, either."

"Owwww," he laughed, rubbing his arm.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter Twenty**_

It was a fine, warm, breezy evening a few weeks later. Paulo was enjoying the spectacular sunset out the window of his home office – the view was one of the main reasons he had kept the penthouse, after all – while working methodically through his company's latest quarterly financial reports. He always made sure he understood and approved them line by line before they were submitted to their various recipients.

Javier had not been there when he'd arrived home a couple of hours earlier, leaving a note on the kitchen counter saying only that he had some business to attend to, and pointing to supper (a creamy casserole of blue Peruvian potatoes and Serrano ham) keeping warm in the oven. He'd be back in a couple of hours. Although it was the first time this had happened, Paulo had merely shrugged and helped himself to the casserole. He wasn't the man's jailer, after all.

It was fully dark before he heard the soft alarm signaling the front door opening, silenced a few seconds later by the entry of the code, then Javier called out, "Hola!" to which Paulo replied in kind. These simple steps, including keeping the doors _always_ locked and alarmed, were some of the measures his new Chief of Personal Security had enacted and enforced.

"Where have you been?" he added. Javier replied after a beat that he'd be there in five minutes. He sounded bone weary.

When he appeared in the office doorway a few minutes later, Paulo glanced up and then stared: his cook was carrying a double Negroni, his favorite drink, in a large cocktail glass. Javier set the drink down delicately before his boss, then looked at him sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Paulo," he said, his voice cracked and heavy, his face etched in matching distress. Before the bewildered man could ask, a tiny USB drive was softly laid beside the drink. "You do _not_ want to watch that. But you need to."

A heartbeat later, the coin dropped, and Paulo looked up at Javier with the question on his open face. Javier simply nodded, as he sat down in the chair across the desk, placing a flat package on the floor beside him. Then he pointed to a breast pocket on his button-down shirt. "The camera was right here."

Paulo shrank back, staring at the USB drive like it was a scorpion poised to strike. He reached abruptly for the drink and took a healthy swig, then forced himself to pick up the drive and insert it into his desktop. Javier watched silently as he navigated into the drive. There was only a single file, a video, about twenty minutes long. Taking a deep breath, Paulo clicked on it, and turned the sound all the way up.

The video started on a strangely discolored and distorted shot of Javier himself, with a couple of vertical lines through the middle. Then the panel of numbered buttons at one side caught his eye, and it fell into place: Javier was inside a mirrored elevator. He was holding his cell phone with one hand, evidently checking the video as it was being recorded on it. Then he turned the phone off and on to reach the splash screen, and read off the date and time aloud as he held it in front of the camera eye for verification. Thumbing the phone off then and slipping it into his pocket, Javier added, "Hilton Colon Hotel, Guayaquil, Ecuador, room eight-oh-seven."

Just then the elevator chimed its arrival on the eighth floor. Just as the mirrored doors parted, Paulo glimpsed what Javier was carrying in his other hand: a large pizza box.

The camera eye preceded its wearer down the hall, turning after a few doors to one with the number 807 elegantly engraved on a plaque beside it. Javier's hand reached out and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened – and all the blood ran out of Paulo's face as he stared at the man on the screen; his face, if that were possible, even more familiar to Paulo than his own. " _Pablo?_ " The name was wrenched out of him in a wretched, cracked whisper. He stabbed a finger unerringly onto the space bar, pausing the frame, staring, then whipping around to stare at Javier. "No," he pleaded with him, shaking his head violently.

Javier just stared back, his tortured soul in his eyes, saying nothing, not bothering to confirm what was plain to see.

After a long moment, Paulo took another gulp of Negroni, and tapped the space bar again to continue.

"You ordered the deluxe special?" Javier's voice asked, as the pizza box was proffered.

Pablo snorted softly, then nodded. "Come in," he said gruffly, opening the door wider and stepping back. He was in his late fifties – same as Paulo – with greying hair cut short, medium height. A bit on the paunchy side, he evidently hadn't kept himself in peak condition. He was clean-shaven, with a jowly face that looked like it would be equally at home scowling or grinning. Just now, he was scowling. He was wearing an expensive black business suit, and had not removed the jacket, although he had loosened the tie and collar.

As the door was closed behind him, Javier offered his hand. "I'm Javier," he said.

"Pablo Cabrera," came the gruff response, along with a perfunctory handshake. Paulo closed his eyes in pain momentarily, as if he'd been hoping for a different name, against all the evidence of his own eyes.

Javier then handed over the box, and Pablo snorted again with surprise at its weight. He pried open the lid. "You actually bought a pizza?" he asked with evident amusement.

"Of course," Javier replied smoothly. "In case I was stopped."

Pablo grunted and dropped the box on a small table near the door, then waved his visitor on in, walking himself to the minibar at the far side of the couch and chairs. "You want a drink?" he remembered his manners.

"Sure. Thank you."

Pablo refilled his own glass from a half-empty bottle of scotch - it appeared that he had already consumed the first half that afternoon - then poured another, turned and handed it to Javier, before motioning him to sit down. Javier moved just slowly enough that it wasn't obvious he was waiting for his host to choose a seat, so that he could make sure the man was always on camera.

Pablo picked up a large manila envelope from the table at his side and tossed it into Javier's lap, just missing the drink. "That's everything you asked for," he grunted.

Javier's drink sailed out of camera range, evidently being set down, before the envelope was picked up and opened. "One hundred thousand?" An impressive stack of bills was extracted, the corner rifled through. It was crisp new one-hundred-dollar bills.

"Of course."

The bills went back into the envelope, to be replaced by a few printed pages, with a glossy photograph clipped to the front. Paulo's heart sank even further as he saw his own face smiling back at him. "And who is this?" came Javier's voice.

"It's all there!" Pablo replied sharply.

Javier had smoothly flipped through the pages, showing them to the camera to be read, if one cared to pause the video and enlarge any frame, then he placed them down again in his lap. "I want you to tell me – to make sure it's the same person."

Pablo sighed, exasperated, but he knew he wasn't in charge at the moment - and the alcohol was loosening his tongue along with exacerbating his irritation. "Paulo Rodriguez. Head of Rodriguez Shipping."

"And what is he to you?"

"My _partner,_ " came the growled, disdainful reply, and Paulo flinched from the emotion. How could this be?

"And why do you want your partner dead?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"To make sure that I'm on the right side of this... disagreement."

Pablo barked a laugh. "You have principles now?"

"Humor me."

Paulo leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe – although he was fairly certain he knew what was coming. He had never seen his old friend act this way; could hardly believe his eyes and ears.

Pablo looked away a moment, nursing both his drink and a simmering rage that Paulo found it hard to recognize. "I want him out of the way because he's a _fool._ He is costing us millions with his fine sensitivities."

"You are making millions now."

"How do you know that?"

"I live here now. I have learned the players – many of them, at least. I know a little about Rodriguez Shipping. It's a big company. Makes lots of money – lots for you. You're the vice president. Why do you want more?"

"Because it's there for the taking. Why shouldn't I have my share?"

"What? Running guns? Drugs? People?"

"All of it. I don't care."

"But your partner says no."

"He's a _fool_." Even in repetition, the scorn burned Paulo's skin. "I hope you are better than the other idiots."

The camera jerked as Javier did, taking a sharp breath and leaning forward abruptly.

" _Others_? There was a previous hit?" he asked sharply. One corner of Paulo's mind congratulated Javier on his acting.

"What difference does that make?"

"What difference? It makes a great _deal_ of difference. It means he is warned, and wary."

Pablo waved away the concerns. "I told you, he's a fool. He knows nothing. He thinks that was a robbery, and has changed nothing since coming back. He's a sitting duck."

Across the desk, Javier remembered the trickle of sour satisfaction he had ignored in the moment. Apparently the many small changes he had insisted on to improve Paulo's security had worked - and yet gone completely unnoticed, as they were supposed to. Nor had Paulo apparently bucked his strict instructions to not breathe a word of their suspicions to a living soul. They were reaping the bitter, bitter harvest now.

"Where was this? And when?" the recorded Javier was continuing to press.

"In Hong Kong, a few months ago. I told you, it changes nothing." Pablo took another drink, and changed the subject. "How long will it take you to do this?"

Javier wasn't letting go. "If you are wrong, and it is more difficult, I should charge you more."

"You are being paid enough! Twice as much as the others, and there were several of them! Now how long?"

Silence for a long pause, as evidently Javier was deciding. Finally, "It depends on how you want it done. I can make it look like an accident, or a heart attack – that will fool even medical examiners. Or, if it's messier, I can make the body disappear, if you want."

"No, no mysteries. No disappearances. It must be _known_ that he is dead, so the succession is clear and unquestioned. But no murders, either. No questions, no investigation. An accident is fine, or a heart attack – but he is in good shape, so that might look odd. So make it an accident." Paulo was utterly chilled at the way his supposed lifelong friend and partner was so cavalierly discussing his own death.

"It will take me a couple of weeks to do my research, and decide how exactly to arrange it. I can't give you an exact date. But I can promise you this: by the end of the month, you will no longer have a partner."

Pablo smiled sourly. "Good. Then if there is nothing more, you can see yourself out." He waved a hand brusquely towards the door behind Javier and the camera.

Javier leaned forward, tilting the camera down, but Pablo was still in frame. "One final thing, Señor. Once I walk through that door, there is no going back. You cannot change your mind and call me off." Sitting there listening to himself on the screen, Javier felt his old habitual parting lines ring in his ears. He was distinctly uncomfortable at how easily he had fallen back into the old habits, and could not wait to put them behind him again. He shuddered.

Pablo snorted once more. "If I were going to change my mind, Señor, I would have done it a long time ago," he said flatly. He stared hard at his visitor over the camera.

At last Javier stood. "Then adios." Pablo simply waved and went back to his drink.

Once in the hall, firmly closing the door behind him, Javier took out his phone and clicked a few buttons, and the video stopped.

Paulo swiveled in his chair and stared out the window at the spectacular night city beyond the balcony, covering his mouth with one shaking hand. The world would not stop spinning beneath him. Javier was silent, staring down at his feet, giving him space to try to process what he had seen.

He failed. "This was today?" he asked unnecessarily. When Javier confirmed it, Paulo's face twisted in pain. "He left the office early. Said he had a grandchild's birthday party to attend." He continued staring out the window, slowly shaking his head. "Thirty-two years," he murmured, then swiveled back to stare at Javier with tortured eyes. "Thirty-two years. That's how long we have been partners. How can this be? How can I not have seen?"

Javier held up a hand. "Stop. Don't. Paulo, this I can tell you from my own experience. Everyone – every single person in the world – has secrets, some of them dark, some downright evil; that they _never_ tell a single soul, not even the ones they are closest too." He paused a second. "Nobody... _ever_... sees this kind of thing coming. Nobody ever... suspects those closest to them of even thinking of such a thing. And they are the ones most likely to do it." He shut his mouth abruptly, having said much more than he had meant to, in hopes of soothing his deeply wounded friend. "Don't..." he went on, "Do. Not. Beat yourself up for not having seen this. Nobody _ever_ knows _anyone_ that well. No one."

Paulo shook his head slowly. Javier could tell he was trying to believe him. Finally he shrugged. "What do I do now?" he asked helplessly.

"Call the police," Javier replied immediately. "This is their problem now. Let them handle it."

Paulo spluttered. "That's a new one, coming from you. Up till now, you've avoided _all_ the police."

Javier shrugged ironically. "New man. New life."

"And give them this?" Paulo pulled out the USB drive and held it up.

"And these," Javier replied, picking up what he had placed on the floor earlier. First he held up a large plastic zipper bag with a manila envelope inside. "The material he gave me." Then another envelope, this time without the plastic bag. "And printouts and screen prints of all the messages that set up today's meeting. I left these on my bed for you, in case I didn't come back – I figured you wouldn't go look until later." He started to lay them before him.

Paulo objected, though. "I don't want that on my desk! I don't want them anywhere near me!"

"Sorry." He put them in his lap, instead.

"Does that mean you will cooperate with the police, then? Help them with this?" Paulo was sounding a bit bewildered at the prospect.

Javier was having a bit of trouble believing it himself. But... He held up a finger. "With one caveat. I want full immunity, and citizenship. If they give me those, then yes... I will turn state's evidence."

Understanding dawned, and Paulo nodded appreciatively. "Good thinking." But he couldn't escape the evening's revelations. He went back to sipping his drink and staring morosely at USB drive.

"Paulo!"

He looked up, startled. "What?"

"I'm not getting out of this chair until you pick up your phone and dial the police. Don't brood over this. Don't sit on it. You'll drive yourself loco, and you'll taint their investigation. Act. Move."

It still took a few more seconds, but at last Paulo did move. He picked up his cell phone and opened his contacts. In a moment, the answer hit him. "Detective Raoul Montoya. I've worked with him many times, and consider him a friend." He glanced at Javier. "He is in white collar crime, but he will know who to bring in to handle this quickly and discreetly."

Javier just nodded. As soon as Paulo began talking to the detective, asking him to come over at once, Javier at last stood up and escaped the room.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

Letty stood before the large mirror in the public restroom, nervously checking her makeup and fidgeting with her outfit. She actually loved this suit, and was quite unreasonably proud of herself for how she'd found and acquired it: normally.

A couple of weeks after her arrival, Christian had surprised her by handing her a check for five thousand dollars. When she blinked up at him, astonished, he grinned. "That's your clothing allowance. For the next year."

"Five thousand? Cool!" Visions of haute couture were visibly dancing before her eyes. She was itching to dump these pathetic charity clothes.

Christian laughed at her as he turned and sat down in his chair. "That's not going to go as far as you think it is, girl. It's got to last you an entire _year_ – _and_ you have to buy not only all _your_ clothes - including maternity clothes, by the way - but all your _baby's_ clothes, as well – _and_ whatever furniture you're going to acquire for them, too."

"Says who?"

"Says the guy who just wrote you that check. Letty... you need to learn how the other half lives – or at least, how they spend money, and manage it. That is... _if_ you are serious about stopping your shoplifting."

He'd nailed her, and they both knew it. She took a deep breath. "Yeah," she replied, quiet but determined. "I am." Then she gave him her biggest, most winning smile. "You're an asshole."

"I've been called that before. Now, are you ready to go shopping?"

The original plan had been to open a checking account with a debit card with the check, but since she hadn't yet acquired replacement ID's, Christian simply took the check back and cashed it himself, handing Letty the stacks of hundreds and fifties with a smirk. "Don't spend it all in one place!"

"Yes, Dad!"

So it began. Christian introduced her to discount stores, and outlet malls – but only for their really big sales – and even thrift shops (secondhand stores). Slowly, Letty adjusted her attitude towards clothes shopping, from lightly grazing from a wide selection of great stuff, deciding which pieces she would stuff into her bag, to methodically hunting through mountains of trash, looking for the rare, occasional bits of beauty or usefulness. Even the thrift shops became fun, and the two of them started going regularly, searching out the outrageous, hilarious, sketchy, dubious, and just plain ridiculous items and showing them off to each other.

The day she had found this outfit, a two-piece navy suit with a mid-length skirt and cropped short-sleeved bolero jacket in one of their favorite thrift shops, she couldn't believe her eyes. She quickly put them on in the changing rooms and modeled them for Christian. He stopped, stared, and then gave her a huge, satisfied grin. "Congratulations. You just graduated." She stuck out her tongue at him, and went to change back, pleased all out of proportion. He helped her find a plain white silk tank top and wispy multi-color scarf to go with it, and then they picked out some costume jewelry – and a decent pair of shoes – at a discount store to finish the look.

A woman came out of one of the stalls and walked up to the sink next to Letty, and they caught each other's eyes in the mirror. Letty grimaced at the woman's side-eye for her nervous twitching. "Job interview," she said apologetically – and the woman's demeanor changed instantly.

"Oh! Good luck!" she said sincerely.

Letty blew out her breath in an exasperated puff, and turned to face her. "How do I look?" she asked, a little desperately. She hadn't been this nervous since... she didn't know when.

The woman looked her up and down closely. "Turn around! Now smile!" As Letty dragged out her biggest, friendliest smile and plastered it on, she got an answering smile in return. "Perfect! You look great! Now, take a deep breath... Good. You got this. Now go get 'em!"

Pumped up by the pep talk, Letty gave her fleeting friend one last smile, thanking her sincerely. Then she marched herself out of the restroom, out through the mall doors, across the parking lot into the Red Lobster restaurant, and up to the hostess, asking to see the manager.

"Is something wrong?" the girl asked, a little worried.

"No," Letty laughed. "I'm here about the bartender position."

The hostess gave a relieved laugh, and asked her to wait while she went to fetch the manager. A minute later, a tall, lanky man with short dark hair came walking out to her, holding out his hand with a smile. As she shook it, though, a puzzled look crossed his face. "Letty, isn't it?" he asked.

She didn't recognize _him_ at all, and showed it. He leaned over a bit and lowered his voice. "Richard. From the meeting the other night?"

Christian's AA group " _Oh._ " Letty cleared her throat. "Never mind, then," she added as gracefully as she could, and started to turn away.

"Why?" Now he was _really_ confused.

Well, she owed him an explanation, anyway. "I _was_ going to apply for the bartender's job."

"So why not?" He did understand, though. He dropped his voice even further, and pointed out, " _I'm_ here."

That brought her up short. "Yes, you are."

"I think you'd be surprised how many bartenders in the US are alcoholics – recovering or not. I don't judge."

Well, this was new. Maybe she had a chance after all. She sure didn't want to go back to waitressing, but this was the only other thing she could think of that wouldn't require serious training first. She was still struggling to envision herself actually _doing_ any of the careers listed in the community college course catalogue, and so could not bring herself to actually register – yet. This, she had decided, would be a good way to ease herself into the idea of doing something productive for the rest of her life.

He saw her hesitation. "Still want the job?" Deciding abruptly, she nodded firmly, and he turned, smiling, and waved her towards the back. "Then come back to the office and let's talk."

An hour later, she walked out with a huge grin, an official Red Lobster apron, and an employee's handbook. Orientation would be the following Tuesday morning. It was only part-time to begin with, but there were prospects, especially with a big, national company like Red Lobster. Richard's only concern was her ability to stand for long periods of time – since he already knew she was pregnant, from her admission at the AA meeting. She assured him that it had never been a problem with her previous pregnancy – and it really hadn't – but if that or any other difficulties cropped up, she would raise the flag immediately, in hopes an equitable solution could be found. She couldn't help but like the man, though: his ready smile and friendly demeanor reminded her vaguely of Javier, when he was being deliberately likeable. She quashed the comparison ruthlessly the moment she recognized it.

The only reason the interview had taken a full hour was that she had to fill out an application – although Richard had told her to skip the Previous Employment section.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I take it I'm not the first... ahh, less-than-perfect applicant you've hired."

He gave her a speculative look. "Well, perfection is in the eye of the hiring manager... but you're right. I believe in fresh starts and second chances – lord knows I've needed them myself. I never hold someone's past against them – only their present behavior."

Letty nodded, with a look of rueful understanding. "So don't fuck up," she summed up, and Richard agreed.

"Don't fuck up."

"I won't," she said fervently, her voice low and earnest. "I won't let you down. I _need_ this." He nodded back, understanding all too well.

Getting hired on her first foray called for a celebration – and Letty knew _exactly_ what that entailed this time. She'd planned it out, and had asked Richard to make sure it met the company standards. It did. Walking back into the mall, she made her way to the tattoo shop in the corner that she had scoped out earlier.

"How much for a small tat – just three simple capital letters?"

"How big?" asked the tattoo artist, a big burly man with a bushy red beard, and not a single square inch of un-inked flesh visible below his chin.

"Just big enough that I can still read it in ten years. Right here, on my wrist." Letty held out her right hand, palm up, and drew a horizontal line across the inside of her wrist with her other index finger.

"Gothic letters?"

She laughed. "I can never read them," she confessed, and suddenly the till-now-taciturn man grinned back.

"Neither can I," he confessed in return, "and I write them."

They settled on a size and price, and she told him the letters she wanted: SCS. "Somebody's initials?" he asked.

"No. They stand for Straight, Clean, and Sober."

He raised an eyebrow, and nodded. "Good goals."

"I need the reminder occasionally," she admitted.

As there were no other customers in the shop, she could get right in. He sat her down in the chair, picked up an ink pen, and carefully wrote the letters on her wrist for her approval. Looking at them for a moment, she held her hand out for him – and then snatched it back. "Wait a minute. No..."

He was looking at her dubiously – had she changed her mind completely? She hadn't _looked_ like such a flake. But that wasn't what she was after.

"No. Not across like that. Turn them ninety degrees, and run them down along the scar, here. Like this." She pointed to the mark running lengthwise down her wrist – the scar left over from her last suicide attempt. He knew what it was from.

"They won't hide the scar," he began, but she shook her head.

"No, not hiding it. Like they're... holding it together."

"Like stitches?" She nodded, and he grinned. "Oh, that's beautiful. I _like_ it." Quickly washing the first letters off, he re-drew them above and below the scar, leaving a tiny gap like the mentioned stitches. He also drew the letters themselves with each leg short and straight, with a tiny gap between, looking like they were embroidered.

"That's it," was her verdict this time. "Do it." Placing her arm on the table, she let him get to work, flipping through her new employee's handbook to distract herself from the pain.

A short time later, she was inspecting her new ink. He'd even added some very light shadowing for a slight Three-D effect, and tiny pairs of vertical "stitches" in between the letters. She smiled hugely at him. "That is absolutely _perfect._ Thank you."

"What about the other wrist? It have a scar, too?" he suggested.

Letty thought a minute, looking at her left wrist with its own scar. "Yeah," she said finally. "Do that one, too. But not the same letters." She told him the new letters, but would not elaborate what they stood for.

"I can guess," he said with wry certainty, but she shook her head.

"You'd be wrong. It's not the obvious." Saying no more, she bent her head back over her handbook.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter Twenty-Two**_

Paulo did not go in to the office the next day; he simply could not face his partner Pablo. Instead, he called in sick for the first time in years, telling his secretary he was feeling tired and feverish (so he didn't have to simulate a stuffy nose), and working with her to reschedule meetings that could be, and conducting the rest by phone and internet. When, at noon, Javier forced him to leave his desk to eat lunch on the balcony, Paulo grinned at him.

"I'm actually getting a _lot_ done today. I should work from home more often!"

Around four that afternoon, he sighed, picked up the phone, and called Pablo at the office, asking him to stop by the penthouse on his way home from work, as he had "a couple of issues" they needed to discuss briefly face-to-face. Pablo replied easily, saying of course, he'd be there around quarter after five. Paulo shuddered as he hung up, then nodded grimly at the two detectives in his office doorway.

His friend Detective Montoya was staying on the case, by virtue of his familiarity with the principals, and had been joined by Detective Pedrona from Homicide. The two of them nodded back, and got to work setting the scene, with the help of Diego/Javier, a uniformed officer named Menendez, and a police audio-visual tech who was named Juarez, but the name slurred to Wires for his wizardry.

* * *

Paulo and Javier had been visited in the penthouse that morning by the city's Chief Prosecutor, who (like his counterparts in the US) controlled and directed police investigations, criminal trials – and deals with potential informants. He had been thoroughly briefed by Detective Montoya and seen all the materials already provided, including Pablo's package. But he needed to meet Javier – introduced to him as Diego Perez – face-to-face before deciding.

Javier would not give him any details of his previous life, of course, only alluding to it being a criminal one – but one conducted entirely within the borders of the United States. "I assure you, I have _never_ broken any laws on Ecuadorean soil, nor targeted any Ecuadorean citizens."

"And is anyone looking for you? Are you asking to be shielded from criminal prosecution elsewhere?" the prosecutor asked bluntly.

Javier gave his one-sided smile. "No. In fact, they believe I am dead up north – and I have absolutely no intention of disabusing them of that belief. No, this isn't going to be another Julian Assange situation," he concluded, alluding to the man still holed up in the Ecuadorean Embassy in London to avoid prosecution elsewhere.

The prosecutor grunted appreciatively. "And what of your future plans? Will this deal come back to bite us? Are we giving you carte blanche to restart your former career – whatever it was – here?"

"No. From now on, I swear, I am turning over a new leaf, starting a new life, completely clean."

"If it makes any difference," Paulo jumped in, "I stand by my friend, and vouch for his character – and I'm ready to act as his immigration sponsor."

The prosecutor's eyebrows were raised at that – apparently, it _did_ make a difference. Paulo was a well-known and influential businessman, after all. He studied Javier a minute longer, then made up his mind, liking what he saw. "All right, Señor Perez. You have a deal. Immunity from any prosecution in _this_ country in _this_ matter, or anything else _before this date_ , regardless of where it took place, and we will expedite your citizenship application. In return, you will cooperate with us fully and completely, assist in this investigation however we deem appropriate, and testify openly at any trial related to this incident. Agreed?"

Javier looked that over carefully, and nodded. "I'd like that in writing, but yes, I agree." The two shook hands to seal it, and the prosecutor left to give Montoya and others the go-ahead.

* * *

At precisely five-eighteen, the guard on duty downstairs in the lobby called for visitor clearance for Pablo (another of the small ways Javier had tightened security), and everyone but Paulo disappeared. He opened the penthouse door and forced himself to shake Pablo's hand, then led him to the dining room, where they sat across the table from each other.

"What's this about?" Pablo asked with easy, friendly amusement.

Paulo had been surreptitiously studying his partner's face, trying to find signs of the half-drunken, derisive, homicidally angry man in the video. He wasn't sure any more if they were there or not. All he could see was the face of his closest friend, whom he had known since childhood: Paulo and Pablo, joined at the hip, only one letter apart. They had gone to school together, worked on a banana boat side-by-side. Pablo had been beside him as Paulo sank his meager inheritance into a single, small, aging freighter, and the two of the worked their butts off for more than two decades, slowly building the company into what it was today. They had each married (and divorced), had children, grandchildren. How could he ignore all this history? It had kept him up all the previous night, tossing and turning, getting up to stare out over the balcony; Javier a silent, watchful companion at the other end, within earshot if needed.

But... the evidence on Javier's video could not be denied out of hand. The police had wanted to arrest Pablo immediately on its strength, but Paulo was determined to give his old friend one chance to come clean, to explain. He desperately hoped that he could.

Now face-to-face with his lifelong friend, he told him, with what he hoped was no hint of what was in store, "I have asked you to come, to give me an explanation... for this." Paulo pulled up the window on the open laptop on the table, turned it so his visitor could see the screen, and clicked Play. It had been paused just before the hotel door had opened. He watched Pablo's face as it stilled, and the blood drained out, as he slowly realized what he was seeing.

He tried to laugh it off, as the man on the screen poured drinks and then sat down. "What is this? Some kind of a joke? That's an actor, obviously. He doesn't even sound like me."

"Of course it is you, Pablo." Up till that moment, Paulo had half-hoped it hadn't been, but the very ludicrousness of Pablo's denial had cemented it. "Nobody ever thinks they sound like themselves on a recording." The disembodied hands on screen were pulling out the pages from the envelope, with Paulo's picture on top. Paulo could see Pablo's mind working at top speed, trying to find a way out. When _death_ was mentioned, he suddenly reached a long arm across the table and slammed the laptop shut, cutting off the video and sound.

"This is ridiculous! It is obviously an attempt to smear me! How did you get it?"

"I gave it to him," said a new voice, and Javier walked out of the kitchen behind Pablo, coming to stand at the end of the table between the two men, hands dangling easily by his sides.

The rest of the blood had drained from Pablo's face as he stared at the intruder. "Pablo, I don't believe you have met my new chef," Paulo said, fleetingly wishing he could be enjoying this denouement. "Diego Perez. I brought him from Hong Kong, where he saved my life from your first purchased attempt on it."

"Lies!" spluttered the accused. "These are all lies!" He rose from his seat to stand shakily, pointing a finger at Javier, who stiffened to attention, his eyes locked on Pablo. "He has come to kill you! He's a killer! I was trying to stop him!"

"Oh, horseshit," Paulo said tiredly. "You're incoherent. You weren't _stopping_ him, you were _hiring_ him." He paused, watching the man. "I asked you for an explanation, Pablo. Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to have me killed?" He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to hear it directly.

And there it was. As the two men watched, Pablo changed before their eyes, a tide of anger and disgust visibly stealing over his face. He jettisoned his ineffectual denials and began spitting venom instead. "Because you and your fine sensibilities are costing us millions! We could be rich beyond our wildest dreams, but no! 'No drugs on my ships!' you say, when it means nothing in the world. _Nothing!_ The drugs will still be shipped, but someone else reaps the profits. Why not us? _Bah!_ " he added abruptly, waving a hand at Paulo as he took a breath, to ward off whatever he might have said. "I have heard enough of your foolish platitudes! I will hear no more of them!"

"You never listened to them at all, all these years," Paulo commented, weary beyond imagining. "You never understood."

"No," came the flat reply. "And I will not listen to any more. Enough! It's time for a change of leadership! So we will end this, right now!" And suddenly, he opened his jacket and reached for a pistol in a shoulder holster Paulo had never known he wore, pulling it out before his partner could take a breath.

But not fast enough. Before it was even clear of the leather, Javier had whipped out his own gun from behind his back, and was pointing it two-handed between Pablo's eyes from just three feet away. " _Don't!_ " he yelled sharply. " _Drop it!_ "

All Pablo could do was stare at the gun, frozen, even as Paulo called out, " _Detective!_ " and suddenly, the room was swarming with men, all of them armed, all of them pointing guns at him, Pablo.

"Put the gun down, Señor!" one of them said, and Pablo whipped his head around to stare at the newcomer. He recognized him a moment later: Detective Montoya.

A wild idea came into his head, and he acted on it. "He drew his gun first – I was protecting my partner!" he cried, stabbing a pointing hand – luckily for him, the one not holding the gun – at Javier.

"Don't be stupid, Cabrera," Montoya told him, not even glancing away. "You've been on camera the whole time. This isn't Star Wars. You drew first. Now _put the gun on the table._ " He paused, but no movement. "Unless you plan on ending this little escapade with a 'suicide by cop'?" He'd used the ugly phrase in English, but it was sadly recognized worldwide.

It caused Pablo to suddenly refocus his attention again on the gun in Montoya's hands – and the others, too. They could see him tasting the idea... but in the end he couldn't do it. Slowly, his hand sank down to the table, and he placed his gun on the surface, then pushed it a few inches away before raising his hands above his head.

Everyone relaxed a hair. "Officer Menendez, search and arrest him." Montoya's gun didn't waver a hair, nor did his attention. "Señor Perez," he said to Javier without glancing his way, "please put that away before I am forced to see it." Within a second, Javier's gun was back in his waistband, safety on, his arms once more by his sides. "Thank you."

Suddenly Pablo became aware of his situation again. "You saw," he began desperately. "He had a gun. He's a killer! A hit man! He promised to kill my partner!"

"Actually," Javier nearly drawled, "the only promise I made to you was that by the end of the month, you would no longer have a partner. I think it's safe to say that promise has been kept, hasn't it, Paulo?"

All eyes turned to the other side of the table, where Paulo had stayed silently in his seat all this time, at first petrified by the sudden threat of violence, then simply staring at his oldest friend as he had morphed to something unrecognizable before his eyes. He nodded slowly. "I certainly have no partner any more. And now, I have nothing more to say to you. Ever." He turned to Detective Montoya, as if he suddenly wanted to never rest his eyes on the man ever again. "Please take him out of my home now," he asked with all the quiet dignity he could muster.

The prisoner had been patted down by that time and handcuffed. Montoya nodded to Detective Pedrona and Officer Menendez to take him away, then called to the next room to Wires to stop the recording. "I want a copy of the video in my pocket in one minute," he added, and it was so, on another USB drive. "Come back to gather up the equipment tomorrow," he then told Wires. "I think we have stayed long enough tonight."

The detective stopped for a moment, looking straight at Javier for the first time since entering the room with his gun drawn. He nodded. "You will have your papers by the end of the week, Señor. Thank you." He then pointed a finger at Javier's middle, and what was now hidden behind it. "Get a license for that right away. Please."

Javier nodded back, and the two men were at last left alone with their thoughts.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Letty rode in Christian's car back home from her latest appointment with her obstetrician in a mild euphoria. The results from the largest round of prenatal tests had returned: all negative. So far, no birth defects, no damage done to her baby girl from her mom's freaked-out bender before she knew she was pregnant.

And it was a girl. Javier's daughter. Letty caressed her six-month baby bump with a growing tenderness that she hadn't quite allowed herself up to that point. Maybe things were all going to work out okay, after all. She shared a grin with Christian, who was driving, as usual.

The good feeling lasted all the way home, but evaporated on seeing the black-and-white car sitting by the curb in front of the house. Two uniformed police officers were sitting inside, watching intently as Christian's old blue Ford turned into the drive. Then they climbed out and began slowly walking towards the car.

"Who are they here for? You or me?" Christian muttered.

"Why would they be here for you?" Letty was genuinely perplexed, but there was no time to work that out. "Whichever one it is, the other one says absolutely _nothing_ , right?"

"Right," he returned, opening his door.

They met the officers at the back bumper, Letty leaning against the car to ease her lower back, arms crossed above the baby bump. Christian copied her stance and greeted the visitors politely. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can we do for you?"

Letty didn't bother to catch their names, only where they were from: South Carolina. _Shit._ And they were both looking at her. One of the officers was black, the other white, but other than that, they were virtually interchangeable. It didn't even matter which one was talking at any given moment; they seemed to be on precisely the same wavelength. Wouldn't they like to go inside the house to talk? one asked politely, gesturing towards the front door.

Letty gave them a patently dishonest smile, and shook her head. "We're fine, right here. What do you want?"

"We've come to ask you some questions, Mrs. Pereira, about the house you own on the beach."

 _Ouch._ They weren't wasting time, and neither did she. "Excuse me? I have _no_ idea what you're talking about. I've never owned _any_ house, _anywhere._ "

"Your name is on the deed."

" _My_ name?" she asked derisively. "Or just one that matches mine?"

"Not too many Letitia Raineses out there. None other than you, in fact."

She shrugged, uninterested. "Is my signature on this deed? Because I sure as hell have never signed one." That was the absolute truth.

They hemmed and hawed, and finally admitted that no, it wasn't.

"Then why are you assuming it's my house?"

Her husband had purchased it for her, they said, before he died, for a cool one million dollars, cash. Letty lost it at that, bursting out in harsh laughter. "My husband _never_ had that kind of money in his life – not his whole life put together. He was an itinerant line cook, and sometimes private chef, out of work more often than not." _Deflectors on,_ she thought, and charged back at them. "What the hell makes you think it was _him?_ "

"We have a witness, the real estate agent, who says she helped him purchase it. She's quite sure of the identification."

Letty shook her head, but filed it away as a worry point. "Then she's wrong," she said flatly.

"So you were never in the house last January?"

"I don't even know where this supposed house is!" They gave her the address, but she shrugged. "Never been there." She felt Christian flinch against her shoulder in remembrance, just the tiniest bit, and yelled at him in her mind to be still. Neither of the cops appeared to notice it, though.

"Where _were_ you last January, around the seventeenth?"

She shrugged again. "I have no idea. We moved around a lot the whole time we were together. I'd have to recreate it – and that could take a looong time. We might even have been in LA already," she added casually, hoping to send them down a rabbit hole. "Why are you asking all this?"

"Because we have reason to believe the house may have been the scene of a murder," came the chilling reply, as they watched closely for her reaction.

But Letty was, after all those months, on top of her game. She barked an astonished " _What?_ " looking back and forth between the men. "And you think I had something to do with it? Or my husband?"

"Well, he _is_ suspected of multiple homicides."

Letty saw red. " _None_ of which are proved. They're all just conjecture – just like you're doing. Throwing things at the wall to see if anything sticks, now that he's _dead_."

Christian, bless him, couldn't stay silent any longer; his professional instincts were shouting at him as well as his personal ones, to protect this woman beside him. "Do you have any _evidence_ that places her in this house – or her husband, for that matter?"

"And who are you?"

"Christian Woodhill. I'm a friend of Mrs. Pereira's. And I am also a former parole officer, and a current employee of Florida Department of Corrections, so I am pretty well versed in police procedure, thank you. Now please answer the question." Letty was impressed in spite of herself: she'd never seen Christian be so brusquely, effectively official.

The officers glanced at each other, trying to decide what to say. "Fingerprints?" Christian continued to prompt them. "DNA samples? Hair? Footprints? Anything?"

Letty was screaming in panic inside. She vividly remembered Javier wiping down the floors with bleach, and even the kitchen counter – but what about all her clothes, her wigs and shoes, that she had abandoned in the closet? They couldn't _not_ be _drowning_ in her DNA. And both their fingerprints had to have been _everywhere_ , on _every_ surface!

Finally, one of them admitted: "No physical evidence, exactly."

"What does _that_ mean?" Christian pushed, as Letty managed not to gape.

Finally, it came out. The house in question had burned to the ground several months earlier. Letty _did_ gasp at that, but instantly charged back in. "And I suppose you're going to try to hang _that_ on me, as well?"

"No," one admitted reluctantly. "We already have the perps for that." It had been a large – _very_ large – group of teenagers who had broken in, partied all weekend with all the drugs and alcohol that implied, and of course had started a fire in the fireplace. "And then they kept tossing more and more stuff on the fire, till it spilled out of the box – got out of control and ended up burning the whole place to ash." He paused, then tried for tricky. "It's a real shame, too – that was such a gorgeous house, wasn't it?"

She wasn't biting, though. "How should I know?" she shot back, utterly bereft of any familiarity with the place.

Letty couldn't stop herself then from trading astonished glances with Christian. "So you have absolutely _no_ physical evidence that puts me there. Or Javier. Or even that it _was_ a crime scene before the kids trashed it. What the fuck _do_ you have? Do you even have a body? Who was supposed to have died, anyway?"

Oh, they had a body – what was left of it. It was the Extra Safe Security guy. He had gone missing, along with his work truck, in the middle of his rounds – the last of which was the house in question. The truck had been found three months later, also totaled by fire, but with the ashes of not one, but two human corpses inside: the missing Security guy (identified by tooth DNA) and another, as-yet-unidentified male. Letty ruthlessly squashed even the whisper of the thought, _Teo_ , letting nothing show on her face even then.

"And do you have any evidence from the _truck_ that places either of the Pereira's inside it?" Christian was nothing if not tenacious.

No, was the reluctant reply. No evidence remained there, either. It had possibly been wiped, and the fire and time had done the rest.

Letty held up both hands. "So, let me get this straight. You have absolutely _nothing_ that ties either me or my husband to either the house or the truck. Only the word of a single person, this real estate agent, who was probably into money laundering – I mean, really: a million dollars, cash? And she _just so happens_ ," her voice dripping sarcasm, hands dropping to hips, "to claim it was _my husband_ who gave her that money? On what, a photograph?" That was a wild stab, but from their faces, it hit. "Hell, for all you know, she saw his picture on the news from LA and _then_ decided to hang it on him, along with everyone else in the country with an unsolved murder. And whoever did buy it put _my name_ on the deed? They could have gotten that name any number of ways. It doesn't put _me_ anywhere near it." She took a breath, then plowed on. "You don't even have anything that puts the dead man at the house. All you have is his burned corpse – with another man's, too – how far away, fifty miles? Maybe you should be looking to identify him, and go from there?"

Staring back and forth between the now extremely uncomfortable and uncertain cops, Letty threw up her hands again. "We're done here. Done. Go away, and leave me the _fuck_ alone! And leave my husband alone, too! Stop pinning shit on him now that he can't defend himself, and you've got all these unsolved crimes. Try looking for the _real_ criminals, instead!"

From the looks on their faces, the two officers desperately wanted to stay and keep questioning her, but they had no idea how to regain control of the situation. She had won this round.

As they walked back to their cruiser, Letty dropped her voice to the merest whisper, managing to say without moving her mouth, in what would have made a ventriloquist proud: "Not. One. Word, Christian. Not now, not ever."

"I wasn't going to," he breathed beside her.

At last the police drove off and left them. As they turned the corner out of sight, Letty let her breath out in a huge, explosive huff. "I sure as hell hope you don't still have any texts or pictures on your phone."

"Nope. New phone, new number – hell, new company. That's all long gone."

"Good." Straightening up from the car bumper at last, she turned to him. "Put the car in the garage, and always park it there from now on. And keep the garage locked at all times. And _never..._ let them or any other cops into the house, for any reason."

"Why?" her terminally honest friend was bewildered.

"So they don't have any chance to drop bugs," she informed him.

"That's illegal."

"Yeah? So? You want to bet your _life_ that will stop them? Or _mine_? You've worked with the Innocence Project, Christian. You know perfectly well how easy it is for them to get a false conviction, on One. Wrong. Word. Don't give them a chance to get it." She waited a beat to make sure she'd made her point, then sighed. "I'm going to take a bath. Suddenly I feel filthy."

Christian waited for her to go inside, then turned to do as she bade and moved the car inside. Later, when he thought back, he was impressed all over again at Letty's astonishing acting ability. If he hadn't known damn well that he'd taken her to that address, received in a text from Javier, he would have believed her himself. Not that he was ever going to breathe a word about any of this to anyone. Not even her.

 _And the dead men?_ a tiny voice in his head asked. It got no reply.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

One week later, the house phone rang in the penthouse one afternoon shortly after Paulo arrived home from work, and Javier answered it. It was the guards downstairs, requesting clearance for Detective Montoya. Javier gave the okay and let Paulo know.

A minute later, the Detective was standing in the door, handing a large flat envelope to Javier. "Your citizenship papers, Señor, and an application for a passport. However, they are not official. You must stand before a judge and take the oath, and get their signature and seal – _then_ they become official. I have included a card for a judge that often works with the department in just such cases, so he will understand the situation. All you have to do is call and set up an appointment."

Javier thanked him sincerely, and the Detective turned to Paulo, his face grave. "I wish my other business here were as pleasant and welcome as the first. But it is not." He took a deep breath. "I have come to give you advance notice of our next action, old friend. I shouldn't be doing this, but I told the others I would not do it any other way. I am allowing you time to go to your ex-wife's house and remove your children from the premises... before we place the Señora under arrest."

It was as though a bomb had gone off in the room. Paulo's face went white, his jaw dropped, and a moment later his body followed suit as his knees buckled, and he sat hard on the couch behind him. " _Sofina?_ Under _arrest?_ For _what?_ "

"She was part of the plot against Paulo?" Javier interjected sharply on a guess.

Montoya glanced at Javier, hesitated, and nodded, before turning back to Paulo. "I cannot tell you much, but I will tell you this much. We have good evidence that it was she who provided the funds for the second attempt, at least."

Paulo was completely undone. " _Sofina?_ " he repeated, unable to process it. "Paid money to have me killed?" He shook his head, turning to Javier, and continued shaking it as if he could deny it out of existence.

Javier's face was nearly as pained as his friend's, but without the disbelief. He believed it, all too well. Stepping over to Paulo's side, he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I told you," he whispered, far too softly for Montoya to hear. "No one ever _really_ knows another person, not even those closest to them."

"You've seen this before," Paulo averred, speaking as softly as the other, and Javier nodded.

"Far too many times. I'm sorry," he added simply, all too aware how inadequate it was.

He could see Paulo begin to accept it, but... "What am I going to tell the children?" he asked helplessly, speaking to both other men.

"The truth, Paulo." That was from Montoya. "You must be honest with them."

That got another violent head shake. "I can't tell them this!"

"You _must_!" Montoya said firmly. "They will hear it tomorrow at school – they will hear a million rumors and vicious lies. You _must_ arm them with the truth before then."

Javier nodded agreement. "Tell them the truth – _as you know it_." Glancing at Montoya, he amended the other man's suggestion. "She has been arrested. You can tell them the charges. But that is _all_ you know for certain at this time. You – and the kids – and I, and the rest of us, will wait to see what comes out at the trial, what evidence is presented, and what the verdict is. _Then_ you can talk together about her guilt or innocence. Not before. For now, it is only an arrest." Looking back at Montoya again, he asked, "What exactly _is_ she being charged with for this arrest?"

It was conspiracy to commit murder – for now, the Detective added, hinting that there was more to come. Paulo wilted, his head in his hands, Javier's hand still on his shoulder. The other men let him be for a minute, then Montoya gently urged him up. "We need to get moving, Paulo. My car is parked downstairs near yours. I will follow you over there, and wait outside until you have brought the children out and left."

"Aren't you afraid I'll tip her off?"

Montoya smiled sadly. "There are several other cars of men already surrounding the house – discreetly. They are waiting for us first." He paused, then went on. "If I may suggest, though... do not linger. Tell them it will only be for a day or two, so they can grab just a few things and leave with you immediately. You can return to the house tomorrow for the rest of their things."

Javier looked at him sharply at that. "You don't expect her to be released on bail quickly?" Montoya glanced at him, but said nothing; the silence itself a message.

At last Paulo was able to make himself stand, and excused himself for a minute to get his jacket. While he was gone, Javier looked solemnly at Montoya. "I'm not going to ask for details, but please, _tell_ me you have more than that."

Montoya paused, but only for a second. "We do. Much more." He placed a level hand before his throat – not cutting it, but as if to say, _she's in it up to her neck._ Javier got the message, nodded, and looked away, heaving a sigh. Montoya continued studying the cook for a bit longer. Finally, he commented softly, "I do not know your background, Señor – you have been very careful not to say. But I think that I am very glad you have chosen to be on our side here in Ecuador."

Javier looked back at him in surprise, then grinned. "So am I." As Paulo came back out, straightening his suit jacket, he asked, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," came the reply. "Stay here, please." He glanced towards the kitchen, grimacing; they hadn't eaten yet. "Stretch out that dinner, if you can – but I don't know if any of us will be very hungry."


	25. Chapter 25

_**Chapter Twenty-Five**_

Christian poked his head out the sliding glass door and found Letty in her favorite spot: laying on the chaise lounge in the Florida room, gazing out into the garden. It had only grown more colorful and profuse in the intervening months, as the two of them worked together to plant and grow as many different kinds of tropical flowers as they could find – although Letty's contributions were getting harder to accomplish around her growing eight-month belly. He frequently waved her off to her lounge while he did the dirty work himself these days.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, startling her out of whatever reverie world she had been wandering in.

"Where are we going?" she asked, confused and concerned. What had she forgotten now?

"Crib shopping? Can't put it off _too_ much longer, or that kid's going to be sleeping on the floor." She _had_ postponed acquiring anything for the baby, from clothes to diapers to furniture, until every single possible test had been done to rule out birth defects – and then kept postponing it out of some weird fear of jinxing things. At least, that's what she said. But at last, she had agreed to go out today to begin with the big things. She was determined to go minimalist, however, and only acquire the bare necessities – no mountain of baby paraphernalia would clutter up this house past livability. A crib, however, was definitely one of said necessities.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I drifted off. Give me five minutes." She didn't sound very enthusiastic, however, nor did she begin maneuvering her bulk off the lounge very fast.

Christian sat on one of the chairs at the table. "Letty... don't lie to me."

"What?" Now she was _really_ confused.

"If you really don't want to go – today or any other day – just tell me. It's okay. You don't need to put on an act, or pretend – not with me."

"That's a bit rich, coming from you." Her voice was unexpectedly bitter.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the one who said 'fake it till you make it'. So... I'm faking it," she said with an eloquent shrug.

"What are you faking?" he asked quietly, and she laughed. Definitely bitter.

"Living. Having a normal life. Moving on. Getting over him." At the last word, her voice cracked and her face clouded over, as if he needed any more clues.

"But you're not, are you?"

"I _can't!_ " Suddenly all the pain she'd been holding back all this time was there in her voice. "And I _don't want to!_ " She covered her face with one hand for a moment, before going on in a raw whisper. "He's the only man... who ever loved me. And the only man I ever loved. I don't _want_ to get over that. I can't let go of it." Another pause, then she waved her arm down. "My head knows he's dead – I saw his body, for god's sake. I _identified_ it. But my heart... keeps expecting him to walk through that door, like he did at my Mom's. 'Thank god you're still here.' " The wistful, loving light in her eyes when she said that made his own heart break all over again. Finally, she shook her head back to reality. "Maybe when this baby is born, and I'm holding his daughter in my arms, and I _know_ she's all right... maybe then I can start moving on. But for right now... I just can't." She gave a huge sniff, and wrenched her voice back to something approaching normal by sheer will. "So I'm faking it. Every day. And just hoping that some day I stop feeling like a fraud."

"Is that why you stopped going to the widow's group?" She'd only attended Sandy's regular gathering for bereaved women a few times before stopping, although she did still see Sandy at times, at AA meetings or just meeting for lunch or shopping. The two women had become good friends. _Doctor John would be proud of me_ , she often thought.

Now Letty nodded. "Yeah. Oh, they were all about 'everybody mourns at their own pace, and in their own way, and you'll move on when you're ready', but... they kept expecting me to _do_ something. I don't know, maybe it means I'm just stuck in the denial phase, but well, so be it. I didn't even want to share him with them. Or listen to them sharing memories. I just couldn't do it."

"That's okay. Everybody's different," Christian said mildly. He'd been a bit surprised she'd given it as many chances as she had. "But I mean it," he added, getting back to the first topic. "If you really don't want to go anywhere, just tell me. We can stay home."

"And do what? Cry? I do enough of that every night. This baby's not swimming in amniotic fluid, she's swimming in tears."

"That's poetic," he commented thoughtfully, and she glared at him.

"I'm not laughing."

"I didn't say 'funny', I said 'poetic'. Poetry can be tragic, too."

"Mmm," she agreed, still a bit skeptical. Then she skewered him with a finger. "But if you put that in your next book, I want royalties."

He laughed. "If I write another book about you, I promise, I will share _all_ the royalties on it with you, like I am this one."

"Speaking of which," she said, truly puzzled. "I haven't seen any yet."

"It's not even published yet. Patience! It's a virtue!" he reminded her cheekily, eyebrows raised, and she raised her brows back, mocking his annoying perkiness.

"I've heard of those!" Confession time over, she began the laborious process of standing up. "No, you're right, we can't put it off any longer. Just let me go fix my face – put on my mask for the day."

Smiling, he stood himself, took her hands, and heaved her to her feet.

"Thanks! Pfew!" Heaving a sigh, she stretched her back out, then gave him a determined smile. "The SS Letty has set sail!"

* * *

When she arrived at Red Lobster for her shift that afternoon, Letty was greeted by an envelope stuck into her locker. She was almost afraid to open it, but it turned out neutral. Someone had at last discovered that the wrong Social Security Number had been input into their system for her at hiring, and so her contributions had been getting credited to the wrong account all these months. "But don't worry!" the note from Corporate HR continued, "we're working to get it fixed. By the end of the year when you do your taxes, your account should be correct!" _Wonderful,_ she thought sourly. _I get to do taxes. Another first. Hooray for normalcy._

The hours flew by, as they always did – one of the things she liked best about her job was how quickly the time passed – it kept her _busy_. As things were winding down towards closing, Miranda started getting a group together to go out for an after-work party. One of the head servers, Miranda was a few years older than Letty, a stereotypical fiery redhead and a guaranteed ringleader in whatever was going on, good or bad.

When she came to the bar, Letty gave her a polite smile and begged off, saying she needed to get home and to bed. She wasn't prepared for the mini explosion that came zinging her way in response.

"Oh, for chrissakes! I am so fucking sick of your whining about your old man and your baby. He's _dead!_ Get _over_ it! At least _try_ to act professional on the job! Jesus, you bring the whole damn restaurant down with your constant crying jag! _You_ won't have any fun, so you won't let anybody _else_ have any, either!" The few customers still at the bar were staring at Miranda along with the nearby crew.

The whole tirade was both untrue and unfair – ludicrously so. Letty stared at Miranda, jaw hanging open. Then suddenly, her own temper flared at the outrageous charges. "How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you tell me how to feel! I'm not stopping anyone from having fun, I'm just not joining in! And I have _never_ cried at work – unlike you, blubbering into your beer last week over your breakup!" Abruptly, she snapped back to awareness of her surroundings, with everyone staring at them both. Whipping around, she marched the few steps to the other woman and hissed at her from inches away, "Don't you _ever_ say anything like that to me again, _especially_ in front of customers, or we'll see who is the _professional_ around here!" And with that, she flung her cleaning rag down on the counter and walked as quickly as she could through the kitchen and out the back door, before anyone – especially Miranda – could see the tears starting.

She went around the corner to the fence enclosing the dumpsters and leaned against the cold brick wall, stifling sobs with the back of one hand, her mind whirling from the unjust attack. She had been trying _so hard_ just to get along with everyone, even that bitch Miranda. She hadn't made any close friends at work, but at least she thought she had made some casual friends – the second circle Doctor John had mentioned. She knew her reaction here was hormone-driven and overblown, but she couldn't help it.

The bricks at her back warmed suddenly to body temperature, and there he was, his arms snaking around her middle between her breasts and the baby bump. "Don't cry, baby," Javier whispered in her ear. "That bitch doesn't matter. I'm here."

"But you're not real," she sniffled, and he stilled. She could see him cocking his head at her out of the corner of her eye, just like he used to do.

"Do you want me to go away?" he asked quietly.

" _No! Never!_ Don't _ever_ leave me – I can't make it without you. Even if you're not real. I just can't."

His arms tightened around her waist again, and he began nuzzling her neck. "Don't worry, baby. I swear – I will _never_ leave you. _Never._ "

She was just relaxing into his caress when Richard's voice came from the doorway. "Letty?" She straightened up hurriedly as he walked over to her, glad that her clothes hadn't _really_ been getting moved around like that.

"I'm sorry, Richard," she began apologizing. "That scene was totally uncalled for and unprofessional – "

He held up a hand to stop her. "And it wasn't your fault in the least. I saw the whole thing. And I've talked to Miranda already, told her _not_ to do it again. I don't know what got into her."

 _She's a troublemaker; that's what she lives for_ , Letty thought, but didn't share it. She'd never been a snitch, on anyone. Except once. "Richard, _am_ I a downer? _Do_ I cause problems in the restaurant? I really want to know if I am." She didn't want to lose this job, but...

But he was shaking his head determinedly. " _No,_ you are _not_. Get that out of your head right now. You're one of my best employees." A rueful smile claimed his lips. "As a matter of fact, I've been wanting to talk to you about something, although I didn't intend for it to be here with the garbage." He shrugged, and satisfied her curiosity. "There's an opening coming up for assistant manager. I want to put you in for it."

Letty's was flabbergasted. "Assistant manager? Seriously? But I don't have _any_ training or experience!"

"I know. We need to fix that, and we will. I'm promoting you to bar shift manager as of tonight – "

"But Tony's that!"

"He's quitting. Handed in his notice this afternoon. Moving back to Miami, he said. So that leaves me short a shift manager. I want you to take over. He'll train you before he leaves. And then after you get back from maternity leave – you _are_ still planning to come back, aren't you?"

Speechless, all she could do was nod.

"Good. After then, we'll send you to the company manager training class in Orlando. It's only three weeks, and you get paid for it. And when you come back, assistant store manager it is!" He grinned at her expression, waiting for her to say something, but she couldn't manage a coherent sentence. He went on. "Letty, you're one of the best employees I've had these recent years. And I know you're wanting to start some kind of career, something more stable with better pay and more opportunities than bartender. This will slide you into that track. Plus, it's a whole lot of office and desk work – that'll get you off your feet! – and more stable hours, as well." He paused. "Well, what do you say?"

"Thank you?" she asked tentatively. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he beamed back.

* * *

Twenty-two hundred miles south, Javier was jolted abruptly out of deep sleep by a crack of thunder directly over the penthouse, as a lightning bolt hit the building's rods. He jerked upright in his narrow bed, staring around wildly and gasping for air, until he remembered where he was and realized what had happened – the thunderclap was still rolling deafeningly.

As it faded, he flung back the blanket and swung his feet out onto the floor, propping himself up with both hands and trying to get his breath back under control. What had he been dreaming? Suddenly, it flooded back, and he hunched over in pain, his head wilting onto his hands.

 _He'd been standing close behind Letty in the kitchen of the house he had bought for her, teaching her to chop vegetables. She'd been crying from the onions, and irritated at him for laughing at her about it, so he asked – only half serious – if she wanted him to leave._

" _No! Never!" she'd cried, startling him with her intensity. So he'd held her even more tightly, nuzzling her neck, and promising he'd never leave._ And that's when the thunder had crashed.

Reaching for his watch, he saw it was still before midnight – he'd only been asleep less than an hour. Nevertheless, there would be no more sleep for him that night, he knew. Standing up, ignoring by sheer force of will his body's automatic reaction to the dream Letty's warm backside held so tight against his hips, he walked over to the little table holding his new laptop, which he'd left open, running the interminable updates. Miraculously, they had finished while he slept.

Going online, he first checked his bank balance. More than thirty thousand. He nodded. _That's enough to start._ He made his way onto the dark web, found the two best US-based trackers he knew of, and started shoveling his money at them.

 _Letitia "Letty" Raines Pereira. Here's a file with everything I know. Anything you can find within the last year. Anything about her current whereabouts. Thank you._


	26. Chapter 26

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

It had been a long, hard few weeks. Paulo had huddled with his kids, Maribel and Paulito, and the two grown "kids" from his first marriage, over and over, working hard to handle the trauma and ease their way, coming up with strategies for handling situations at school and work. Their father promised the teens that they could switch schools if they wanted to – if it got too bad – but so far, both of them were toughing it out. Paulo had been forced to issue official company-wide memos the mornings after each arrest, explaining the bare facts. The company had gone into security lock-down after Pablo's arrest, as every single password had to be re-authenticated in person, and every single employee vouched for by their supervisor, all in order to prevent any back-door access by the now-former vice president. Paulo didn't _think_ Pablo would actually break in and steal secrets or wreak havoc, but the procedures were in place for a reason, and so he pulled the alarm out of caution. After all, he hadn't thought Pablo would do what he _did_ , either. And it was unknown at that point if the man had had any outside associates who might also cause real mischief.

Then, just today, the District Prosecutor had called Paulo out of courtesy, informing him that both his ex-partner and his ex-wife had decided to plead guilty to a range of charges, in hopes of getting lesser sentences by not going through lengthy trials. Paulo had rushed home to tell the kids and Javier; it was decided that none of them would leave the house the next day, holding a mental holiday of movies and games at home and letting the worst blow over.

At last, the younger generation had gone to bed. Paulo wandered out to the balcony some time later, spotting his cook leaning against the waist-high wall amidst his potted herb garden. Peering closely, he saw Javier was drinking a bottle of beer, carefully peeling the label off with a fingernail in between sips. He fetched his own beer from the fridge, and went to join him. As he reached his side, however, he was startled to see tracks of tears streaking down Javier's face – and, apologizing, turned to leave him alone.

"No, it's all right. Please stay," Javier said softly, not turning. Paulo leaned against the wall beside him, taking a sip and looking out over the night city towards the port, and waited.

And waited. Glancing to his side, he saw Javier start to speak several times, but swallow it each time. Paulo started musing aloud. "I'm an only child – did you know that? No brothers or sisters. And now, I've no family – only my kids. Pablo..." his heartache showed on his face, "...for a very long time, he was like my brother. Two peas in a pod. But to tell the truth... we had been drifting apart for many, many years. I didn't want to see it, but it's true."

"But you," he went on, "you are like the brother I never had. Even though we've only known each other a short time, we are so simpatico, it's amazing."

"If you knew the truth, you would not say such things," Javier said in a low voice, and it made Paulo angry. He turned to face the other man directly.

"I don't care about history! I know you have done some terrible things... but that was long ago, and that is not the man you are today. And this man, my brother, is obviously hurting. Please tell me why. I want to help if I can."

He waited again, and finally Javier began to speak. "Do you know anything about Argentina, where I'm from?" Startled, Paulo admitted that he didn't, not really. "The Dirty War?" Javier prompted him.

Ah, that. "I know a little about it. I haven't studied it." He turned back to the city view.

"Tens of thousands of people, kidnapped, tortured, murdered. The Disappeared. Most never found."

"Terrible. I can't even imagine..." Then he shot a quizzical look sideways at Javier. "But that was a _long_ time ago; _you_ couldn't have been involved."

Javier shook his head. "No, I wasn't. My father – Oscar Pereira – _he_ was." He said the name with a bitterness that shocked Paulo – Javier had never spoken of his family before. "We didn't know exactly what he did, but we knew he was involved. He worked for the government." He picked at the beer label again – he nearly had it cleanly off. "I asked him once if he felt no shame, and he told me – I'll never forget it – that he had never done _anything_ for which he was ashamed. And mind you, this was just _after_ he had finished verbally smearing me across the floor."

Paulo was stunned at this glimpse into his friend's psyche – but surely that didn't explain the tears?

Javier went on. "But it wasn't just the Disappeared. It was also the Stolen Ones – the Children of the Disappeared. Hundreds of babies, and tiny children, stolen from their parents and illegally adopted by the winners. And nobody knew about it. It's only just now coming out, being discovered."

Suddenly he turned to look at Paulo. "Miguel Perez? The man whose place I took on your ship?" He was pulling his cell phone out of a pocket, thumbed it open, quickly found a picture, and handed the phone to Paulo. It was the shot taken on the docks, of him and Miguel pointing to each other and laughing. "He looked _exactly_ like me. And he was from Argentina. I saw his personnel file. His parents died when he was a baby; he was raised by an uncle, in a little village in the Pampas – rebel territory." Suddenly his voice cracked. "And his date of birth was exactly _one day_ before mine."

Paulo was floored. Jaw dropping, he stared at Javier. "You think he was stolen?"

"No! I think _I_ was!" Javier's face was terrible to see, full of rage and anguish, as the long pent-up words began pouring out of him. "Oscar was with the _winning_ side, remember! I think that's why I never felt connected to anyone in my family, except my sister and my baby brother. I think that's why I could never get his approval – even though the rest of them could. But not me. And I think that's why he felt no shame about kicking me out of the family after the accident that took my baby brother's life – or calling me evil to my face, because I had caused the accident. And then, two decades later, after luring me in with a _fake reunion_ , doing it all over again. Because _I was not his son._ " The last few words had been wrenched out from deep inside, and he had to pause before going on to the next, even worse, bit. "And I think that's why my _mother... sat_ there and let him do it – twice! Because _I was not HER son._ " The pain and bitterness in his voice would have blistered paint.

He took several panting breaths, looking out over the city, before turning back. "Paulo..." he whispered, his voice cracking, the tears starting again. "I knew my _twin brother_... for _five minutes_... before he _died_... and we took each other's place. And we never knew! We never knew..."

The beer bottles had been left on the low wall. Paulo put one hand on Javier's shoulder, his face a study in reflected misery, trying to figure out what he could possibly offer in the face of Javier's agony.

"Paulo, my whole life has been a lie. I don't know who I am. I don't know what's real... what's genuine..." He shook his head and shrugged helplessly.

" _I_ do," Paulo replied, suddenly sure of what to say. Putting his other hand on Javier's cheek, he stopped him from turning away. "No, listen to me. _Listen_ to me. When we are young, children, our families, and where we are from... yes, they determine who we are. But when we are grown, _adults_ , then who we are comes from ourselves – it comes from what we say, what we do, what we believe. And _we_ are in control of _all_ those things – that makes them _absolutely_ _real_. This new life you are trying to build here, this man you are becoming – have _already_ become – they are _real_. They are _genuine_ – because they come from _here._ " He moved his hand to place the palm over Javier's heart. "That's as genuine as it is possible to be." Another thought struck, and he pointed vaguely outwards. "And when you take that last step – when you stand before the judge and take the oath, and become a citizen of this country with your new name, and get an Ecuadorean passport – _that_ will be _one hundred percent legitimate_." He pronounced the last few words carefully and distinctly, capping off all the rest.

He had hoped to salve his friend's wounds, but Javier's eyes just filled with more tears. "But I can't," he whispered, shaking his head, his voice broken. "I can't take that last step... not until I find out what has happened to Letty." He held up his left hand, palm in, showing off the wedding ring he had never once taken off. "She's still my wife. I'm only half alive without her. We're still married – until one of us is dead, or she tells me to my face that she no longer wants to be. But I can't find her. Not from here. I've tried – I've tried every way I know – and I know a _lot_ of ways. But nothing. There's no trace." Neither of the two dark web tracers he contacted had achieved any more success than he had on his own - she was simply not listed in any of the databases any of them had access to. He stopped for a beat, then made the point. "I have to go back, Paulo. Back to the US. I can find her in person – I did it before. But I can't from here."

Paulo didn't try to dissuade him. "Will you come back?" he asked simply, and Javier at last gave him a small smile, and nodded.

"If you will hold the job open for me."

"The _job – "_ He broke off in exasperation. "I just got done telling you that you're my brother. There will _always_ be a place for you here, job or no job." Wanting to lighten the mood just a bit, he made a face. "But I do like your cooking," he confessed.

That time Javier really did laugh, if only a short chuckle. "I like cooking for you – and the kids. You're all good eaters, and you appreciate good food."

"Then you _will_ come back." It was no longer a question, but Javier nodded.

"The only way I will _not_ come back, is if Letty has found a place and made it a home, and doesn't want to leave – but wants me to stay there with her." Then he tipped his head to one side with a wry grin. "But knowing her, that is _extremely_ unlikely."

Paulo took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," he agreed – then suddenly pulled Javier into a tight hug, which the other man returned.

Letting go, they turned again to the city lights by unspoken mutual accord, leaning on the wall once more and picking up their beers. After a moment, Paulo spoke up again. "As your big brother," he began with a grin (he was a few years older, after all), "may I offer you some advice?"

Javier snorted. "Of course."

His companion turned serious. "Take that last step anyway, before you go. Become an Ecuadorean citizen with your new name. I do know enough of your past – you told me – to know that it is _very dangerous_ for you back in the US. I know, the authorities there believe you are dead – but if they discover they were wrong, that you are still alive... Little Brother, it could mean your _life._ " Pausing for emphasis, he gestured with his beer bottle. "But if you take that step, and go back with a _legitimate_ passport with your new name... it will be a little bit of protection. Maybe not much, but some. Maybe enough to make the difference between coming back, or not."

Javier took his time, taking several more sips of beer – he was nearly out – while he thought it over. Finally, he agreed: the slight protection was worth it. "Okay," he said simply – then he added, "But I want something in return. I may need your help with something."

"What's that?"

"I am _probably_ going to have to smuggle her out of the country – and into this one. I know you don't like stepping outside what is legal, but we will need to make her disappear, like I did, so she isn't traced here – to me."

"But how can I – my jet." Paulo grinned as the answer hit. "Of course! They never inspect it – at either end – when I am returning to this country. Okay! That's easy. When you find her – _when_ you find her! Just call me, and tell me where you are, and I'll fly up 'spur of the moment' and tour whatever port is nearest you. And when we come back, there will simply be two more people on board."

"Exactly," Javier grinned, then turned serious again. "Are you certain you're okay with it?"

Paulo gave him a wry grin. "I smuggled _you_ in a few months ago."

"That's right," Javier remembered. "You did. Okay." He had one sip left, but Paulo stopped him from taking it by turning back and raising his own bottle in a toast.

"To family."

"To family." The toast was clinked and drunk.

Another thought occurred to Paulo. "Wait a minute. Do you have any idea how long you might be gone?"

Javier shrugged. "No, no idea. Sorry. Why?"

Paulo heaved a huge sigh. "I'd gotten used to not having to eat out or heat frozen meals. I don't suppose you could teach Maribel how to cook before you go?"

Javier leaned on one elbow on the wall, an exaggerated look of disappointment sliding over his face. "You _really_ have not been paying _any_ attention, have you?" At Paulo's puzzled look, he laughed. "I _have_ been teaching them – _both_ of them – how to cook."

"You _have?_ " Their father was astonished.

"Mm-hm. Every day, after school, before you get home, they have both been helping me with dinner." He gave a self-deprecating shrug, glancing away. "It gave them something else to think about," he admitted.

Paulo was about to say something about his caring too much, but Javier cut him off, leaning over to pat the older man's belly. "So don't worry, Big Brother, you won't starve while I'm gone."


	27. Chapter 27

_**Author's Note:** My apologies for the delay in updating. Just as I was about to start writing this chapter, Hurricane Michael roared through and flattened Panama City, Florida, where I have stashed Letty and Christian. I debated ignoring it, placing this story in the past, but then decided that 1) this was more exciting, and 2) it solved a future plot hole. So, herewith is a hurricane as a guest star – albeit only off camera (much like the storm at the Holiday Inn Express)._

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

A few weeks later, the newly-minted Diego Javier Perez made his way off the airplane and at last back onto US soil, shifting his single carry-on bag onto his shoulder once away from the gate. He was nowhere near his original destination of Los Angeles. His flight from Quito into Panama had been delayed, and then his continuation flight to LA canceled due to mechanical difficulties. Rather than get upset however, he had viewed it as a sign, and got himself onto the standby lists for the next dozen flights to anywhere in the US. He'd gotten lucky on the third try, and was now moving through Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, Louisiana.

There was a pretty good chance, he told himself, that Letty had drifted back to her old stomping grounds in the Southeast after his "death". Maybe Fate was pointing him in that direction, as well.

On his way out through the terminal after showing his brand new passport to the immigration control officer (who barely glanced at it, almost disappointing Javier), he happened to glance through the window of one of the many stores lining the hall, and grinned as he spied bags of gummi bears. _Why not?_ He hadn't found a brand he liked in Ecuador. Detouring into the shop, he picked up several bags, wincing at their price and putting back all but two, then pulled an orange soda out of the cooler. He was standing in line at the register when he saw it.

Glancing over at the many paperbacks on offer, her name jumped out at him from several identical book spines: "Letty". He leaned over and pulled one out, looking at the front cover with growing astonishment. "The Misadventures of Letty Lockhart", by Christian Woodhill. _WOODHILL?_ Flipping the book over to the back, he nearly shouted aloud with glee as the familiar face of Letty's friend grinned back at him from the Author's Photograph. For all those months, he had never tried to search for the man, because he could remember neither his last name, nor the city he had been working in as a parole officer.

"Sir? Are you ready to check out?" The cashier was trying to get his attention.

"Yeah! Sorry." Javier placed the book on the counter alongside candy and soda, and gave the cashier a grin. "I know that guy," he offered an explanation for his reaction, getting a friendly smile in return.

Out of the shop, he stepped across the concourse to an airport bar so he could use their wifi, grabbed a seat with his back to a wall and ordered a beer, then pulled out the lightweight laptop he'd brought with him. He quickly made his way onto the dark web, and contacted KronosKai, the tracer who had actually been apologetic about his inability to find Letty – even refunding a part of Javier's deposit, unlike the other guy. _Christian Woodhill. Author. Current address and phone number, as soon as you can, please._

After finishing the beer, Javier walked out into the sunshine and hailed a taxi, asking the man to take him to any place he knew of with a lot of used car lots – the "buy here, pay here" shady kind of places. No problem, was the reply, and within fifteen minutes, Javier was cruising on foot through a series of lots, dodging salesmen until he found what he wanted: not too old, not too new, price low enough to be suspicious. He got the salesman to knock a few hundred off by promising cash, then another few hundred by threatening to check the VIN to see if it was stolen, and for the first time in his life, actually purchased a vehicle. He just hoped it wouldn't die on him before he was finished with it.

Then he drove out of town and across Lake Ponchartrain to Interstate 12, found a cheap hotel and got a room, and settled in with the book.

He stayed up all night reading. There were no hints in the collection of short stories of Letty's current whereabouts – all of them seemed to be from years past, before they had met. It ended with the story Christian had read aloud to them on the Sprinter; the very first one he had written – and ended the same way, with the fictional Letty signing up for classes, strongly suggesting an end to her life of crime. Javier wondered absently if that was some sort of message in itself.

Flipping open the laptop in the morning before going downstairs for breakfast, he grinned. KronosKai had sent a message.

 _Found him. Here's his home address in Panama City Beach, Florida. No cell phone yet; I'm working on it. But hey – I finally found something in the SSA database on the other target you asked for – she's listed as having the same home address as Woodhill!_

When he reached that last sentence, Javier sat down, hard. After all these months, finally, a solid sign of Letty. He'd become half convinced that she had died, either by her own hand or by an accident. He started to breath again.

Forgetting breakfast, he stuffed everything back into his bag, and went to check out. The television blaring in the lobby caught his attention on his way through, however, by the announcer saying the name of his destination. He stopped dead and stared at the TV, hardly believing his ears.

A major hurricane was churning up the Gulf, heading directly towards Panama City – and Letty.

He practically ran to his car, jumped in, and screeched to the highway, heading east, hoping against hope that he could beat the storm.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight**_

Christian rushed through the front door less than an hour after he had left for work one morning, nearly scaring the pants off Letty by yelling for her. " _What?_ " she cried as she scrambled to her bedroom door.

"Start loading up the car," he replied, panting. "We're evacuating."

" _What?_ " she repeated, astounded rather than startled.

He had started to turn away towards his own room, but stopped, took a deep breath, and turned back to Letty. "Hurricane Michael has made a turn north, and is now headed directly towards us. It's already a Cat 3, and expected to get to a Cat 5 before landfall. They've called for voluntary evacuations, but it will be mandatory before sundown, I'm sure – that storm is moving _fast._ We've got our bugout bags packed up," (they had been working on them for the past two days in anticipation of the possibility) "so let's get them into the car and hit the road before it becomes hopelessly clogged."

Unexpectedly, hormonally, Letty suddenly turned completely obstinate. "No! I'm not going – I'm not leaving home. We've both ridden out storms before!"

Christian gaped at her. "Thunderstorms, yes, but not a Category FIVE hurricane! Letty..." He spluttered for a second, then came out with the last thing she expected. "I am _not_ delivering that baby at home!"

She scoffed. "It's not due for two weeks!"

So he scoffed back harder. "Oh, right, and _every_ baby _always_ waits until its exact due date before making its grand entrance – and is _never, ever_ affected by its mother's stress! Why babies are _never_ born at home during hurricanes!" His sarcasm could have cut a loaf of bread. "Letty – I am _not_ delivering that baby – I'm not even taking a chance on it. Besides – " Without warning, his voice cracked, and tears sprang to his eyes, making her step back, startled. "Besides, in a couple of days, we may not _have_ a home left."

"What do you mean?"

"They're calling for a six-foot storm surge, _minimum,_ and probably much higher. We are _five_ _blocks_ from the ocean. This entire house is going to be underwater – if it's not completely swept away. We are going to lose _everything_ we don't take with us."

Flabbergasted, Letty could only gape at Christian wordlessly. She had never been in such a situation before.

"So _please..._ stop arguing with me, and get the important things into the car, and let's go."

He had turned away once more before she found her voice. "Christian..."

" _What?_ " he swung back yet again, completely exasperated.

"I'm sorry." Her stricken face showed she really meant it. "I know how much you love this house."

He had to look away a moment, then nodded. "Yeah," he replied softly. "I do. I love everything about it – and about the life I've built here. If this hurricane hits dead on, Cat Five like they are forecasting, it could wipe out this entire town. I really have _no_ idea if _any_ parts of my life here – _our_ lives here – will be left." Taking another deep breath, he stepped back to Letty and laid one palm gently on her cheek. "But _we_ – you and me, and that baby – are more important than _any_ of the rest. These are just _things_ , just _jobs._ We can get more." He smiled a crooked, half-hearted smile. "After all, it's not the first time I've started over with nothing. At least I've still got a decent pile of money in the bank – which is more than a lot of people in this situation have. I'm lucky in that much. I _can_ start over."

"But won't you get insurance on this place? All those pictures you've been taking..." The past two days he had taken hundreds of shots with his cell phone, documenting every possession.

But he shook his head as he dropped his hand again. "I couldn't get flood insurance, because the house is in a flood plain, right next to the shore – not without paying the insurance company as much as I paid for the house itself." He shrugged. "Call me stubborn, but I'd rather spend that money directly on a new place, than running it through a greedy insurance company, and getting only pennies back, probably." Sighing, he shook his head again to close that line of inquiry, and asked, reasonableness itself, "Is that all of your objections, Letty?"

Chastened, she nodded.

"Then call Richard and tell him we're bugging out, and get packing."

"What about _your_ job?"

"They called _me._ They're sending all non-essential personnel out now. That's why I turned back." He pointed to her cell phone, inevitably in her hand. "Dial."

"Right," Letty agreed, sighing as she lifted the phone – which began ringing in her hand right at that moment. Looking at the caller ID, she snorted, then answered. "Richard? I was just about to call you."

"To tell me you're evacuating, I hope," came her manager's voice.

"Yeah," she sighed as she turned back to her room. "We're bugging out. I'm sorry, I won't make it in – "

But he cut her off. "Good. We're closing the restaurant – not even opening today. That's why I'm calling everyone, telling them to get out. Call me in a few days, after the hurricane has passed, and we'll try to sort things out."

"Oh my god," she whispered. For some reason, the seriousness of the situation hadn't hit her until that moment, hearing that Red Lobster was closing. It never closed.

"Letty... do you have a place to go?"

"I don't know where we're going," she admitted. "I think we're just driving till we find a place. Or maybe Christian knows – I don't know."

"Letty... please take care. Be careful. I... I care about you." It wasn't like she didn't know that, but he'd always been extremely careful not to show it, since he _was_ her boss.

"Richard..."

"I know, I know. You're not free... and you work for me. I just... wanted you to know." He took a loud breath, and forced his voice into a more neutral tone. "I gotta go. Several more calls to make. Talk to me in a few days?"

"Right. Hey, _you_ be careful, too. Are you on your way out of town?"

"As soon as these calls are done." He paused. "Talk to you soon." The line went dead as he hung up.

Letty took a deep breath, and tried to blow out her tension with it, then went to gather her bags.

They really had been packing – at Christian's insistence and Letty's slightly exasperated patience – for two days, using the Red Cross and FEMA lists as guides: two weeks of clothing, medicines and filled prescriptions, eyeglasses and _their_ prescriptions (Letty had finally given in and gone to Lenscrafters a few weeks back; she was still getting used to them), important documents (her recovered certificates, his house papers, etc), small electronics and chargers (Christian had copied all the files from his desktop onto a small external hard drive), valuable jewelry and small knicknacks (if any) that they couldn't leave behind, were all packed into as few canvas grocery bags as they could manage – and two more bags of newborn baby clothes, diapers, and first toys were also waiting for the blessed arrival. Letty had a separate diaper bag of overnight essentials for her and the baby, ready to take to the hospital when the time came. The car seat had been properly installed in the back seat of Christian's car two weeks before. Two cases of bottled water and two bags of ready-to-eat food, flashlights and batteries – just in case – sat on the floor in front of the car seat. Amazingly, working steadily, they managed to cram everything into the trunk, with a couple of "day bags" of really essential stuff in the back seat for each, within just half an hour.

At one point, Letty called to Christian from her room as he walked by, and he entered to find her staring tearfully at the painting on the wall. "I guess that Wanderer is going to be looking at a whole lot more than fog here pretty soon," he commented painfully.

"Wait, don't you have an attic space?"

He had to think a minute – he'd never used it. "Yeah, the hatch is over the dining table."

"Will that fit up there? It might be a little safer."

Christian shook his head sadly. "It's too big." Then he thought. "Wait. The _frame_ is too big. But we can always reframe it." He pulled the painting off the wall and laid it face down on Letty's bed, then went and retrieved a flat screwdriver, a sharp knife, and masking tape from the kitchen, as well as a flat sheet from the linen closet. He wrenched the fancy scrolled wood frame from the edges with the screwdriver, then used the knife to carefully cut the canvas just inside the staples on the back holding it to the inner frame.

"I always thought that was a print," Letty commented.

"Nope," he replied. "Painted oil copy." Carefully rolling up the now freed painting, he then rolled it up inside the sheet, taped the bundle closed, then handed the roll to Letty. "Put it in the back seat. I'm not leaving him here."

When she returned from that errand, she walked slowly through the house one last time, making sure there was nothing important left behind. Of course there was – gobs of things, everywhere she looked – but nothing that made the cut. Stepping out through the sliding glass door, she spied Christian out in the garden, on his knees in a corner, carefully digging up some bulbs and putting them – about half a dozen – into a brown paper lunch bag. She stepped over to his side and put a silent hand on his shoulder. After a moment, he was able to look up at her and give a watery smile. "Siberian Iris. My favorite flower – and the first thing I planted here."

"Well," she commented thoughtfully, thinking back to her first day in the little house. "That's the nice thing about gardens – they're never finished. Always a work in progress." Looking down at his beloved face, she squeezed his shoulder. "You'll just have to use those to continue this work in progress in another place."

Christian nodded, and patted her hand gratefully. Then he groaned to his feet.

"All ready?"

"No," she sighed, then, "Yeah."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let's go."


	29. Chapter 29

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine**_

Javier was getting more and more concerned as he drove east, watching the traffic on the westbound side of Interstate 10 get heavier and slower. Finally, just east of Mobile, what he was dreading hove into view: the eastbound lanes were blocked, all traffic rerouted off the highway, and those lanes up ahead given over to westbound traffic to allow as many vehicles to escape the hurricane as possible. He followed the few other cars down the off-ramp, but tried to turn the other way as the rest were directed into a U-Turn.

Suddenly a patrol car blocked his path, and a uniformed – and armed – police officer was looming up in his window. "No eastbound traffic beyond this point, sir, you'll have to turn around. This entire section of coast is being evacuated before the hurricane."

Javier swallowed hard, and tried for reasonable first. "I understand that, officer, but my wife is trapped in Panama City – " That was as far as he got.

"Sorry, sir, but you _cannot_ get through. If that's where she was, she's no longer there; the entire city is under mandatory evacuation. She's already left."

"But she's got no way out!"

"Then she's been put on a bus. Turn around, find a hotel, and go to the Red Cross website. They've got a special page for evacuees to alert friends and families where they are."

They went back and forth a few more times, Javier getting increasingly desperate, and the officer just digging in his heels, warning Javier not to try any other roads, either, as every single one into the area was roadblocked by police. Finally, the man stepped back and put his hand on his pistol butt. "Sir, I have given you directions of what you must do. Now I'm giving you a direct order. Turn this car around and get back on the highway, now!" Shutting his mouth with a snap, his stance made it abundantly clear what would happen should this obstinate civilian refuse.

Javier threw up his hands. "All right, all right!" He slowly turned the steering wheel the other way, the officer edging back to allow him to pass – to the left and into the U-Turn, past several other officers directing the remaining cars onto the freeway.

Most of the traffic seemed to be continuing due west on the Interstate, so after Mobile Javier turned onto a smaller highway angling northwest and inland. When he reached Hattiesburg, he pulled off and into a strip mall – and found himself facing a Verizon store. Realizing he was going to be in the US longer than he had hoped, and needed faster, more reliable access to the US net, he took his cell phone inside and got a temporary, two-month contract on it with a US number.

Walking back outside, his stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't eaten since the night before; so, grimacing, he walked across the parking lot to Applebees and choked down a burger at the bar, washing it down with a beer, trying not to think.

Back in his car, he tried the Red Cross website, but of course there was no listing for either Letty or Christian. Very likely neither of them would believe anyone else would be searching for them. Desolate and once more helpless, he simply sat and watched the storm clouds – far outliers from the hurricane – slowly roll in.

It was nearing evening when suddenly his newly-connected phone buzzed – he had an email. Picking it up, his eyes widened – it was from KronosKai. The tracer still hadn't managed to track down either of their cell phone numbers – the US still refused to allow a central directory of them, so anyone searching for one had to crawl through dozens of individual providers' listings, often through the back door as they were not public – but he had something else. Christian's credit card number.

And it had just been used to check two people into a hotel in Birmingham.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter Thirty**_

Javier woke suddenly, as usual, looking around wildly for a moment before he placed himself mentally – in the front passenger's seat of his car, laying back, parked in the most remote spot of a highway rest area. He had made it to about an hour from Birmingham the night before, fighting traffic the entire way, before he absolutely _had_ to stop and get some sleep. Besides, he didn't want to burst in on anyone in the middle of the night. So he'd also stopped to wait for a more civilized hour.

Stretching, he realized he had been in these clothes for far too long, so he grabbed his overnight bag and headed into the restroom. Stripping off his dirty t-shirt, he dampened it in the sink, then took it into the oversized handicapped stall to give himself a quick wipedown with it, shivering slightly as the cool morning air hit his wet skin – he had gotten completely used to the year-round heat in Ecuador. He quickly donned a fresh set of clothes and stuffed the dirty ones into the bag, then finished up with a more thorough wash of face and hands back at the sink, wiping his beard with the t-shirt and finger-combing his hair into some semblance of respectability by way of drying off his hands.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket as he reached his car again: another email from KronosKai. Javier stopped dead, staring, then nearly whooped with relief – it was the long-awaited cell phone numbers, for _both_ Christian and Letty. He sent a huge, heartfelt THANK YOU to the tracer immediately, accompanied by a generous bonus, then got to work.

He put his phone into Personal HotSpot mode, then set it on the dash and pulled out his laptop. Now that he had the numbers, he could use them in the program he'd downloaded from the dark web to pinpoint the units' locations, regardless of their service provider. The program wasn't as precise as some others he could have used, but it was good enough – it would get him to within a few dozen yards. Indeed, both phones' circles not only mapped to the address of the hotel the credit card had checked into the previous night, but they overlapped each other until he zoomed way, way in; only then did they separate. Apparently Letty and Christian – or at least their phones – were a few hundred yards apart at that moment.

 _Excellent_. As much as he physically ached to call Letty directly and hear her voice again, he knew instinctively that was the wrong thing to do. Instead, he would call Christian, convince _him_ of his own true identity and living status, and ask _him_ to break it to Javier's grieving "widow". He knew he was asking a _lot_ of the man, but it was the only reasonable solution he could think of.

He closed the laptop, picked up the phone and took it off HotSpot, and checked the time: eight a.m. in Birmingham. _Much better_. So he took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed.

* * *

In fact, the phones were separated because Christian had let himself out for an early-morning walk. Both he and Letty had had very rough nights. Letty seemed to be having trouble simply finding a comfortable position for her very-late-pregnancy bulk in the unfamiliar bed, tossing and turning every few minutes and moving all her extra pillows around – although she had seemed to Christian to be at least dozing for most of it. Hopefully she had gotten enough badly-needed rest in spite of the discomfort.

Christian's problem had been more mental than physical: he was wrestling with anxiety over the entire situation, as well as fear for the suddenly uncertain future, when it had seemed so serene and secure until just a few days before. At least there was one step he _had_ been able to take on that front. Without telling Letty, he had made certain that, although the _precise_ hotel they had checked into had been chosen more-or-less at random, the general location was _not:_ they were within five miles of a very large, well-respected hospital. He had as little desire to deliver her baby in some shabby motel room, or on the side of a road, or even in a dodgy small-town clinic, as back in their own home during a hurricane. He would stay with her throughout her labor and delivery, as she had made abundantly clear she desired, but he wanted proper, expert professionals to actually do that job. Luckily, they had already agreed to stay put for several days, to see how Panama City came through, before deciding on their future course. He would make sure they stayed until after the birth, whatever it took.

The hotel, like all the rest within five hundred miles of Michael's landfall, had been nearly full, so they had agreed to share a room with two queen beds, passing off as cousins assisting each other through the disaster to stave off unwelcome assumptions. Unfortunately, that meant they were even more privy than before to each other's troubles. When dawn found him wide awake, he had quietly gotten dressed and let himself out to pace a few blocks in hopes of calming his mind and nerves.

Suddenly, his phone jangled in his pocket, and he grimaced. She must have woken up and was wondering where he was. When he glanced at the screen, however, it showed an unknown number. "Hello?" he answered.

"Christian?" It was a male voice, showing stress. "Christian Woodhill?"

"Yes. Who is this?" If this was a telemarketer, at this time...

"Oh, thank god!" the voice replied, positively oozing massive relief. So, not a telemarketer. Maybe.

" _Who is this?_ " Christian asked, even more sharply. He wasn't in the mood for playing games, and couldn't quite place the voice, although it seemed almost familiar.

"I'll tell you, but you're not going to believe me." There was a trace of an accent, tickling Christian's memory.

This was getting irritating, though. He stopped walking, sighing heavily. "Try me anyway."

"It's Javier, Christian. Letty's Javier. Your wife used to call me 'Mexican Clyde'. I was sorry to hear about her, by the way."

Christian barely registered the last sentence. Now he was steaming. What kind of joke was this? "You're right, I don't believe you. Javier is dead," he said flatly, through gritted teeth.

"No, I'm not. I was shot, but I wasn't killed. Listen – "

"This is some kind of sick joke," Christian interrupted. "And I am _not_ going to listen to it."

"No, wait, please!" the voice said quickly. "I'll prove who I am. Just give me two minutes. Please?"

Christian heaved a sigh. Sometimes he was far too nice. He held up his other hand, looking at his watch. "Okay. Two minutes. Start talking, buddy."

"There were five of us in the Holiday Inn Express, in two adjoining rooms: you and Rhonda, me and Letty, and Agent Backup – I've forgotten his real name. Letty and I were in handcuffs, arrested by your wife, but Rhonda let her make drinks for everybody – martinis. And after Agent Backup freaked out when the storm sent the hotel sign through the window, you cooperated with me in getting him drunk, by playing a drinking game – the liar's game. After everyone had passed out, Letty got the handcuff keys and tried to escape, but she got no further than the door."

"Why didn't you go with her?" Christian broke in, asking in spite of himself.

Javier grinned, knowing he had him, even if Christian didn't realize it yet. "Because Agent Backup was lying across my legs. I couldn't move without waking him up. I made her go without me. Anyway, the manager knocked on the door just then to offer us new rooms because of the sign. A few minutes later, we were on our way down in the elevator, when the power went out again, and Agent Backup start ragging on Rhonda, _real_ bad. So you decked him, knocked him out. Back up to the new rooms, to wait for the morning and the cinnamon rolls – which were really good – and Letty started working on Rhonda, until she figured out what buttons to push. So in the morning, we left Agent Backup handcuffed to the bed, like me and Letty had done it and escaped, and the four of us walked out to the Sprinter like gangsters." He waited a beat. "Do you believe me now?"

" _Holy shit!_ " Christian breathed. His watch hand had sunk back down to his side without him even realizing it, as he stared blindly, mouth hanging open, across the street. " _Javier?_ "

"Yes. It's me." At this, his first human contact with someone he used to know, Javier leaned his head back against his seat, tears prickling.

"But... Letty saw your body!"

"No. She saw _a_ body, that _looked_ like me. Hold on, I'm going to text you something – a picture." Pulling his phone away from his ear, Javier called up the photo gallery – it was still the same phone he had been carrying ever since they had left the South. He heard Christian say something, but just said, "Hang on a second." Finding the picture Marco had taken of himself and Miguel on the docks approximately fifty years ago, it seemed, he quickly texted it to Christian. "Got it?" he asked, phone back at his ear.

Christian pulled his own phone off as it beeped the text tone, opened it up, and stared at what appeared on his screen, jaw dropping again. "But... wha... Who is that?" he managed, phone to ear.

"Me and the guy I was meeting that night. You know why I was there, right?" He figured Letty had told him the whole story.

She had. "Yeah. Selling coke."

"Right. And in a one in a bazillion chance, the guy I was meeting to sell it to, looked _exactly_ like me." He wasn't going to try to explain the real relationship just then. "We each had our middleman take a shot with our phones. And then, you know about the gang war?"

"Yeah."

"We both got hit. He died, and went into the water. It was _his_ body that Letty saw later. As for me... I know this sounds crazy, but I swear to God it's what happened. I crawled away to find a spot to hide, and somehow, accidentally got aboard his ship. I woke up a few days later and a thousand miles out to sea, and I couldn't get a hold of Letty. I've been trying to find her ever since. Please, Christian, _please_..." His voice was suddenly cracking. " _Tell me you know where she is._ "

"Yeah, I know where she is," Christian said immediately, and he could hear Javier sob in relief.

"She's there with you? In Birmingham?"

He took a second to register that Javier knew what city they were in, but only blinked. It somehow didn't surprise him. "Yeah, she's here with me. Well, not _right_ here – I'm not in the hotel, I went for a walk. But yeah..." He managed to slow down and repeated it to her obviously overcome husband. "She's here." A beat. "Where are you?"

"About an hour away. You're in the Sheraton Hotel on Grand?"

"Yeah." Again, how did he know that? Christian shook his head, shaking it off.

"Christian... I can't just walk in out of the blue. Can you go and break it to her? Please? And I'll be there in an hour?"

 _Holy shit,_ Christian thought. _How did I get roped into more Letty weirdness? This is the weirdest one yet._ "Yeah," he found himself saying – although there really was nothing else he _could_ have said. "I'll do it. Hey, Javier..."

"Yeah?"

"Drive careful, would you? _Get_ here."

Javier chuckled, and at last Christian was absolutely certain he recognized the voice. "Oh, yeah. _Definitely_."

* * *

He'd made it back to the Sheraton and up to their room in what was, for him, record time. As he opened the door, however, he found Letty standing in the middle of the room, pulling on clothes in an absolute, obvious panic.

"Christian! Where the _hell_ have you been?" Not waiting for an answer, she plowed ahead. "You've got to take me to the hospital. My water just broke!" As he stood there gaping at her, she took a step forward, and cried, " _Christian! My baby is coming, RIGHT NOW!_ "


	31. Chapter 31

_**Chapter Thirty-One**_

Christian was nothing if not practical. This was _NOT_ the right time to tell Letty about her supposedly-dead husband coming back to life. He helped her finish getting dressed, pausing as each (so far still light) contraction hit, then walked her carefully down to the car and drove to the emergency room, thanking himself for having had the foresight to map out the _exact_ route and location the night before. The emergency room personnel had taken one look and rushed them, Letty by now in a wheelchair, up to the Labor and Delivery department, where they were immediately settled into a private room to let nature take its course.

And there they waited, Letty pacing back and forth, unable to sit still, let alone lie on the exam table. "I must have been going through the early stages of labor all night, without even realizing it," she panted in between contractions. "That's why I was so restless – but I was too exhausted, and it was too stealthy, to wake up." Christian wisely said nothing.

Nor did he say anything about Javier. He couldn't. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how ludicrous the whole thing was. What did he have for proof? Only a phone call, that he could only report on. He _did_ have that picture of Javier and the other guy – he took out his phone and peeked stealthily at the pic while her back was turned: yes, it was still there, still real – but really, what did it _really_ prove? He resolved to wait, and concentrated on keeping Letty company, doing whatever he could to ease her way. Ice cubes to suck on (all she was allowed to consume), a sympathetic ear to listen, and an arm to lean on while slowly walking the hall seemed to be the extent so far.

His resolve was tested when an hour later, his phone rang again. Excusing himself, he went out into the hall to take it. It was Javier.

"Where are you? I'm at the hotel. Did you tell her?"

"I..." Suddenly, the idea of how to proceed crystallized. It wasn't ideal, but... He was staring out the window at the end of the hall from Letty's room, standing several floors up; a couple of blocks away he spotted a multi-story public parking garage; the open top, which he could see clearly, was mostly empty of cars. "Hang on," he told Javier, and switching to his phone's map, quickly found the garage and pinned it, then texted the location back to the other man. "I need you to meet me here, top floor – it's a parking garage. We need to talk first. How soon can you get there?"

"What?" When Christian asked, Javier verified that he had gotten the map, but... "Christian, what the hell is going on?"

"I just need to meet you, first."

"Christian... are you setting me up?"

"What? No!" Realizing how odd he sounded, and remembering Javier's history with betrayal, he explained, trying to keep his voice down so it wouldn't carry. "I just need to see you in person, first, and make absolutely certain this is real, that _you_ are real, and who you say you are, before I bring you to Letty. Please, Javier... I swear on Letty's life – on her _heart_ , I am _not_ setting you up. Nobody else will be there, I swear it. I'm sure you understand. I can't just... break her heart all over again, by telling her this, and then it turning out to be not true. You understand, don't you?"

It took Javier a moment, but then he decided to trust Christian once again. "Yeah... okay... I understand." He checked the map again. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Now Christian had to face the tiger. He walked back into the room, just as Hannah, the nurse who had been assigned to Letty as her primary caregiver for the duration, finished checking on her progress, measuring the dilation of her cervix. "Three centimeters!"

"Out of how many?" Letty asked, a little plaintively.

"Ten, I'm afraid. You have a little ways to go, yet."

"How long might it be?" Christian asked.

Hannah, a pretty, thirty-something woman of color with long, well-tended braids, gave him a sympathetic look. "At least two hours, probably more," she admitted, and left the room to fetch more ice cubes.

Christian took a deep breath, and went to the exam table, helping Letty sit up again. "Letty, do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

 _What the hell is this?_ she thought. _I'm the one who should be asking things like that._ "Of course, I trust you."

"Because there's something I have to do right now. I _swear_ , it is _very_ important, and I'll be back in less than an hour. I _promise._ "

She gaped at him, completely unbelieving what she was hearing. "Important? More important than _this?"_ She gestured to her distended belly.

"Yes. Well, at least _as_ important, but I have to do it _right now._ I _will_ be back, in plenty of time. I'm sorry, but I've _got_ to go." Kissing her swiftly on one cheek, he turned on his heel and went out the door before she could protest again, passing a startled Nurse Hannah in the doorway.

The two women gaped at each other in disbelief. "Men!" was Letty's supremely disgusted – and hurt – comment. She would never have believed Christian, of all people, would abandon her like this, just when she needed him most – or at least, that's how she felt.

"Yup," Hannah agreed, coming to put the ice on the table. "But don't worry, sugar. I'm right here. I'll stay with you till he gets back."

* * *

Parked now at the top of the garage, it was Christian's turn to pace, unable to sit still. After only a few minutes, though, a battered green car appeared at the opening, paused noticeably as the driver looked all around, and then drove to park right next to his own car. A man climbed out, and Christian gasped. "Javier?" He laughed, as Javier walked towards him, a smile peeking through his beard. "I don't believe it! It really... is... you!" All his doubts had been swept away; this was, undoubtedly, Letty's lost husband.

As Javier reached Letty's friend, he impulsively reached out and pulled the man into a bear hug, tears unexpectedly stinging his eyes. How often in his life had he gotten a glad, friendly reception like that? Almost never.

After a moment, pounding on each other's back, they dropped their arms and stepped back, beaming at each other. Javier's smile wavered first, desperate worry bleeding through. "Where's Letty? Please, Christian. How is she?"

"She's fine, she's okay. I'll take you to her. She's right over there, at the hospital," Christian hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the massive building two blocks away.

Big mistake. " _Hospital?_ " Javier pounced, instantly horrified. " _Why?_ "

Christian threw up placating hands. "It's okay, she's fine." Realizing suddenly anew what he'd gotten himself into, he spluttered. "Oh, god. _I_ shouldn't be the one telling you this, _she_ should!"

"Telling me _what?_ " Javier was near to panicking.

"Take a breath," Christian told him, putting one hand on Javier's shoulder. "Javier, your wife, right now, is in the hospital – "

"You said that!"

" – having your baby."

Javier froze, blinking. "What?" he gasped out finally.

Christian laughed at him. "Having your baby. She didn't even know she was pregnant, the night you disappeared. She went into labor this morning."

Involuntarily taking a step back, Javier fought to process what he'd just heard. "A baby? … _My_ baby?"

"Yes," Christian couldn't stop laughing at him with every word.

"Oh my god." Gasping for breath, Javier suddenly doubled over, leaning against Christian's car. He was looking around as if he suddenly didn't recognize pavement, cars, sky even. "A _baby?_ " he repeated, completely astounded.

"Javier." Managing to stop laughing, Christian repeated it even louder, more commanding. " _Javier!"_

"What?" He finally looked back at Christian, who pointed at his vehicle.

"Get. In. The. Car. You can have a heart attack on the way to the hospital."

"Yeah. Good idea," Javier agreed, brows furrowed in concentration, then managed to stand upright, walk around to the other side, and get in the passenger seat, still gaping around with the funniest, most stereotypically stunned New Father expression Christian had ever seen in real life. He turned suddenly back to the driver again. "A _baby_?"

"Yes!" Christian was laughing again.

"Boy or girl?" he remembered to ask suddenly.

Christian gave him a direct grin. "A girl."

"Una niña..." he murmured out the windshield, then suddenly smiled wistfully. "And she's going to be as beautiful as her mother." Then he grimaced. "As long as she doesn't get my nose," he added, turning to Christian with a wry expression. Christian absolutely cracked up at that.

Suddenly Javier turned panicky again. "Wait!" He took a breath, and made himself ask. "Is she going to _want_ to see me? Or has she moved on? Forgotten me?"

Christian braked to a stop at a light, and turned a compassionate face to his friend. "No," he said simply, remembering Letty's recent – was it only a few weeks ago? – admission of just that. "She hasn't gotten over you, not one tiny bit. She'll want to see you, _right_ _now_."

"You'd better go in first and break it to her, like we said. Or... should we wait until after the baby's born?"

"Are you kidding? She'd kill both of us!" Realizing what he'd said, and to whom, he grimaced an apology to Javier.

Javier just laughed.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter Thirty-Two**_

Christian walked back into Letty's labor room about to burst from anticipation. Of all the times in his life he had been about to deliver some news, _none_ had _ever_ filled him with such gleeful excitement. Not even Letty's reproachful glare could dent it.

She was pacing on the far side of the exam table, between it and the window. Hannah took a look at both of them and decided she needed to check on something, scooting out the door. Christian walked over to Letty and took her hands. "Letty, I have something to tell you – something _very_ important."

"More important than this," she flatly repeated her earlier objection.

"Yes."

"Oh, this better be good," she informed him angrily.

"Letty, I got a phone call this morning on my walk, and just now I went to meet him."

"Who?" she asked wearily.

"Letty... it's Javier. Your husband's not dead."

As expected, her jaw dropped, then her eyes filled with tears. "That's not very damn funny, Christian. I _saw_ his body."

Just as Javier had done with him, Christian shook his head, pulling out his cell phone. "You saw _a_ body, Letty, of someone who _looked_ like him. _Exactly_ like him." He pulled up the pic of Javier and Miguel and turned his phone around to face her.

Letty took the phone in growing astonishment. "Who _is_ this?"

"The guy he was meeting that night, the night he disappeared."

"How did you get this?"

"From _him._ From Javier. He texted it to me."

"And how do you know it was _him,_ and not this other guy?"

"Because he proved it to me. Letty, he told me _every detail_ of what happened that night the five of us stayed in the Holiday Inn Express. Remember? And no," he forestalled her with a hand, "it wasn't cold reading. I know how that works, I've had it done to me. I did not feed him one.. single.. clue. _He knew it_ , and told me. Letty... your heart has been right all along. Your husband's not dead."

"Then where is he?" she whispered, voice cracking, just this side of losing it completely.

"He's out in the hall."

"Not anymore," came a new voice from the doorway, ragged with emotion. Letty whirled around to see Javier standing there, his face wracked with pain. She actually let out a scream, both hands flying up to cover her mouth a moment later, and she stood absolutely stock still, not daring to breath, as he walked over to her. Christian melted back to the wall out of the way.

Javier let out a sob as he glanced at her hands and saw her wedding ring there, then he raised his own left hand to touch her ring lightly with trembling fingers, before flipping his hand over and holding it up beside his face to show her his own ring on his finger, which it had never left.

"You're still not an English teacher," he told her, his voice low and intense, just loud enough for her to hear, "and I'm not Elvis. Our marriage was never a joke – not to me. And it didn't start with one."

Still not quite believing this was happening, Letty reached out with both hands to cup his bearded cheeks, her eyes darting wildly around to every corner of his face, as if running a computer facial recognition program. Both of them were sobbing openly by that point, his hands reaching for her body. Suddenly she pulled his mouth to hers, as she had done so many times before, kissing him with all the intense passion she had ever felt in that action – and feeling him return it, just as he always had. This was real. This was Javier. He was here, holding her, kissing her.

She broke the kiss first, flinging her arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life as she sobbed wildly into his shoulder. His hands were touching her back, her shoulders, her hair, as he whispered brokenly into her ear, over and over, "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I _never_ would have left you by choice – you know that – oh please god, tell me you know that!"

Letty managed to pull her head back to look him in the eyes again and got out, her voice high and tight with tears, "What happened to you? Where have you been?"

He repeated the bare bones again of getting shot, crawling blindly onto Miguel's ship, and inadvertently stowing away on it. "And by the time I was able to use my phone, I couldn't reach you. I couldn't find you! I've been looking for you ever since!" He turned it back, at last asking what he had never yet been able to get a single hint of. "What happened to _you?_ "

Letty shook her head, sobbing anew. How could she tell him what she had done? Before she could say a word, though, the biggest, strongest contraction yet rolled over her, and she literally screamed again, clutching Javier's shoulders in panic at the sudden excruciating pain. He panicked himself, not knowing what to do, only dimly guessing what was going on.

Christian, seeing, did what he had been coached to do, and jumped forward, trying to get Letty's attention and encourage her to breathe through it, like _she_ had been trained. She was beyond listening to him, though, continuing to scream into Javier's shoulder with each panting breath.

Hannah had heard the commotion from outside the room, and came rushing in. "What in the _world_ is going on here?" Spying two men in the room, she shook her head and tried to take control of the situation as her own many years of experience had taught. "There are _way too many_ people in here! One of you gentlemen has got to leave!"

Letty heard, and raised her head as the contraction finally eased. "No! Both of them are staying! Christian, stay!" she cried wildly. There was no question of Javier leaving. She turned to Hannah. "I can have anyone I want with me, and I want both of them!" She knew she was acting out of control, but she couldn't help it – and just then, yet another hard contraction swept over her directly on the heels of the last, and she screamed out again.

"All right, okay!" Hannah said quickly, soothingly – and loudly, to reach through Letty's noise, resting a hand on her shoulder. She put a commanding note in her voice. "But Mom – MOM! _You need to calm down, right now!_ You're not doing yourself, or your baby, _any good_ with this. Your baby is going to go into distress in a minute. Now _calm down!_ "

Letty was beyond her reach – but not beyond Javier's. As he had done so often in the past, he held her even more tightly to his chest, not letting her move, putting one hand on the back of her head firmly enough for her to feel. "Sh, sh, sh, sh," he whispered rhythmically. "Sh, sh, shhhh. Hush, Letty. Hush. I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going _anywhere, ever_ again. Sh, sh, sh, shhhh. Calm down, baby. Calm down. Sh, sh, sh, sh, shhhh. Breathe, baby. Breathe. Shhhhhhh." His voice slowly softened as he felt her begin to quiet. Hannah seeing the effect he was having, took her hand away and backed off a couple of steps to give him room. At last Letty began breathing deeply like she was supposed to be doing, controlling the pain, panting rhythmically through the next contraction without screaming, her head still on Javier's shoulder.

Hannah looked wide-eyed at Christian beside her. "That was amazing," she whispered softly.

He shrugged, giving her an apologetic smile. "He's the only one who's ever been able to handle her," he whispered back. Then, by way of explanation for his own presence, he added mendaciously, "We didn't think he was going to get here in time."

"Military?" she guessed.

Not willing to lie directly, he merely smiled – but she had already turned away, satisfied. The last contraction had faded, and it seemed Letty was going to get a tiny break before the next one, so Hannah stepped forward again. "That's better, Mom. Thank you. Now, can you get on the table for a moment so I can check your progress?"

Letty straightened her head finally, nodding exhaustedly at Hannah and moving slowly to the exam table. She took Javier's hand as his arms slipped off, and held it tightly, not letting go for an instant through the quick progress check.

"Eight centimeters!" Hannah announced. "Not long now! Do you want to sit up again?" At Letty's tired nod, Hannah reached for the hand not being held by Javier and with him helped pull her upright again and swinging her feet over to dangle at the side – facing Javier once more. "Now, listen up, please," Hannah began firmly, making sure she had Letty's attention. "Pretty soon, you're going to feel an overwhelming urge to push. Don't do it! That's the signal for transition to the final stage. Instead, push that call button to let us know. We'll move you immediately into the delivery room and get that baby out of there. Understand?"

Letty nodded dully. It was her second delivery, after all, even though it had been over a decade since Jacob was born. Still, she remembered how it went.

"By the way," Hannah went on. "What is your little girl's name? You haven't told us." Javier cocked his head, too, eager to catch the answer.

Letty shook her head, though. "Not yet. Not till she's born. Please... don't ask me to explain." She knew she was being unreasonable, but the whole thing felt like a jinx to Letty, if she even whispered the name aloud or wrote it down before saying it to her healthy baby girl in her arms. She hadn't even told Christian.

"That's all right. It's your prerogative. Okay, gentlemen," Hannah went on as she stepped back. "Since you're both staying, I need you both to come wash up and get some scrubs on. I'll take you one at a time. You first?" She pointed to Christian, who nodded and followed her out the door.

"Heeeey," Javier called softly, smiling at Letty, leaning over on his hands on the table, one on each side of her, and touching his forehead to hers, as she put both her hands on his neck. "You're having a baby?" he grinned.

She was too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to banter. "Brilliant observation," she said drily.

"Forgive me, Letty, please, _please_ forgive me. I just want to hear you say it, just once, and I'll never ask again, I swear." He paused. "It's mine?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, it's yours," she replied, just keeping the sarcasm out of her voice at the sight of the wonder on his face. But then she couldn't resist adding, "Pampas raton."

" 'Pampas rat'?" he laughed, hardly believing his ears.

She shrugged, smiling at the rise she'd gotten out of him. "I've been reading up on Argentina," she admitted, feigning innocent indifference. "I can even say Buenos Aires correctly." She did, too.

"Oh, muy bien, Señora! I'm impressed!"

Another contraction hit, but not as bad, and this time she was prepared, panting through it as he grabbed hold of both her hands and breathed with her almost unconsciously. When it passed, she looked again into his eyes, but he forestalled whatever she was about to say.

"Letty, I'm very... very sorry." His face was tragic, not giving her a single hint. "But I have to tell you now... I think someone has come between us."

He couldn't keep the smile from pulling on the corners of his mouth, then – and she saw, and let out an exasperated moan. "You have been _dying_ to use that corny line, haven't you?" she accused with some – amused – heat.

He chuckled, then. "Yep," he admitted, completely unrepentant.

Pulling her hands out of his again, she put them around his neck – and pretended to throttle him. But she couldn't keep up even the mock anger. Her face softened as well as her hands, and she looked into his face with tears once more in her eyes. "Where have you been?" she cried softly.

"Far away," was his honest, painful reply, "trying to build a new life. But it's empty without you. I never stopped trying to find you. Finally, I had to come back."

Just then, Hannah re-entered with Christian, now sporting scrubs over his clothes and a surgical cap wrapped around his head. "Your turn, uh.." she gestured to Javier, asking his name.

"Diego," he supplied his new official first name, glancing significantly at both of the others to make sure they heard and understood. They did.

As he stepped towards the door, though, Letty cried after him. "Wait! How _did_ you find me?"

Javier stopped dead, turned around, and grinned hugely at her, then pointed to Christian. "His book. I found it in the airport, and then found him." With a wink and a chuckle, he walked out.

Letty's jaw dropped, and she turned to see Christian giving her what could only be described as a justified, shit-eating grin. She shook her head ruefully, then declared, "Okay. I forgive you for writing it. And for leaving me here this morning to get him." Then she stabbed a finger at him. "But if you write another one, I won't forgive you."

"Don't worry," he told her, coming around to stand before her. "I won't write another one about you. I've run out of material there, anyway – and I don't _want_ to write about anything from the past year. I'll write about something else in the future."

 _Something is off here_ , she thought, panting through another contraction. Before it was done, she realized what, and afterwards tilted her head to one side. "Why does that sound like goodbye?" she asked, a little bewildered.

"I guess because it is – or will be, not right this minute. I'm not leaving – you want me to stay. But when you're released from the hospital, you'll be leaving with _him_ , won't you? Going back to wherever it is he's been?" He waited a beat, then went on, reassuring. "And that's exactly how it _should_ be. You're _his_ wife!" He thought a moment, gazing at her. "We're taking different paths from here, my friend." Then he chuckled. "Don't worry, Letty. I'm _still_ not in love with you. Thank god," he added. "If I was married to you, I'd end up killing you."

She stared at him. "I _wish_ that was funny," she grumbled, and he blushed, having done it again.

"Sorry."

Another super-strong contraction hit, and she cried out automatically before she managed to get her breath back in rhythm.

"Hey!" came from the door as Javier, bedecked as Christian, walked back in. "What are you doing to my wife?" he demanded of the other man, mock-angry.

"Me?" Christian replied, radiating innocence as he pointed to Letty's belly. "Oh, no. _This_ is _all_ your doing."

"That's right, it is," Javier said proudly, grinning at Letty as he took her hand.

"Is that you under there?" she tried for humor. He was even wearing a beard net.

They managed to get through the next few minutes, as a few more contractions hit – and then suddenly, the worst one yet rolled in. Letty nearly yelped, panting hard. "Button! _Button!_ " she cried, waving a vague, frantic hand at the side of the table. Realizing what she meant, Javier – the nearest one – dove for the call button and stabbed it for Hannah.

The nurse came running in, unerringly sure why she had been paged: Letty had reached the final stage. She got Letty to lie down on the table again, as it was now her delivery bed, and directed Javier on unlocking his side so she could push it through the doors and across the hall into the delivery room.

Javier stayed at her side throughout, while Christian moved up to stand behind her head. When she asked why, craning her neck to look back at him, he admitted, pointing to the other end of the table, "Now that he's here, that's a view of you I just don't want in my head!" She tried to laugh, but another contraction hit, and there was the doctor, telling her to give in to her urge now and _push!_

The next few minutes were the proverbial blur; that final stage could move fast and furious. Before they knew it, a tiny, squalling baby girl was being laid on Letty's bare belly.

"Dad? Dad! _Dad!_ " Doctor Peters was laughing, trying to get Javier's attention. Letty swiveled her head to look and laughed, too – he was staring at the baby as if mesmerized, his face an alarming shade of pale. At the last repetition of 'Dad', he snapped out of it and looked at the doctor.

"What?" he panted, vaguely alarmed.

"Are we about to lose you?"

"No. I'm fine," he replied, convincing no one.

"Do you want to cut the cord?" Hannah was offering the scissors she'd picked up from the tray.

Javier stared at the implement hovering above his new daughter with something akin to horror, losing another tiny shade of color from his cheeks. Finally, he shook his head in refusal. "No." Looking at Letty, he added a firm, "Mm-mm."

She couldn't help but giggle at him: former hitman, ultimate tough guy, so squeamish that he still looked like he might faint – though in the end, he didn't. Barely. The giggles got her through the cord cutting and afterbirth. "You can touch her, you know; it's all right." She had been holding the baby on her belly with the hand not holding his, but his other hand was hovering a few inches away, as though perhaps he thought she might disappear in a wisp of dreams. And at last he allowed his fingertips to caress the baby's head, his face flooding with emotions Letty didn't want to name, just watch.

Hannah had been busy with the baby, too, examining her and calling out codes and numbers to another nurse in the corner, who was entering them into a tablet chart. "Is she all right? Hannah? Doctor? Is she all right?" Letty asked, panic seeping in again around the edges.

"She's fine and healthy, Mom," Doctor Peters reassured her. "Her APGAR scores are eight out of ten, and those last two should come up within the next hour. Nothing to worry about. I know," he started to say, but she glanced quickly at Javier and shook her head meaningfully at the doctor, and he understood immediately. He had come into the labor room while Christian was out, introducing himself to his unexpected new patient, and she had informed him of her drug and alcohol use so early in her pregnancy, before even knowing about it, and how concerned (understatement of the year) she was over possible resulting birth defects. Now he rushed to allay those concerns, without giving any hints to the Dad. "We'll run all the usual tests to check her out. But we would have already seen nearly anything wrong by now. She's _fine._ "

Letty tried to calm herself again as Hannah picked the baby up, announcing she was taking her to get cleaned up and checked out. "Christian, go with her. Don't let her out of your sight!" Letty instructed him, overwrought all over again with deferred guilt and hormones.

"I will, I will!" he smiled, squeezing her arm, then following Hannah and the baby out of the room.

"Hey, hey, hey," Javier called softly, getting Letty to turn back to him again. "It's all right. Everything's okay. It's over, babe. Shhhhhh." Gradually, he worked his usual calming magic on her, and at last she was able to let go of his hand. He was shooed out into the hall, then, and the hospital staff worked _their_ magic, transitioning Letty from Woman In Labor to New Mother, beginning the long, messy process of recovering from childbirth.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Chapter Thirty-Three**_

Early evening. It was technically after visiting hours, but Letty had lucked into the last remaining solo private room on the maternity ward, which meant that Dad was allowed to stay the night, although it would be an uncomfortable one, sleeping on two easy chairs scrunched together.

The hours after the birth were a slow-rolling but well-practiced system of baths, examinations, postpartum instructions – and firsts. The baby was brought in a rolling hospital bassinet to Letty in her new room, Christian dutifully trailing along behind; his smile and nod reinforced Hannah's announcement that the baby had passed all the tests and examinations for any possible problems with flying colors.

She'd been brought back in time for her first meal at Letty's breast (which went smoothly, to Letty's immense relief; she had never breastfed Jacob, as he had been born in prison and by law taken away by Estelle immediately), then both new parents were given hands-on instruction on changing diapers and baby clothes, neither having _ever_ done it before. Christian ducked out of that one, returning a short time later with a bag of White Castle sliders for all the adults. Not long after that, visiting hours ended, and Christian left the new family alone to return solo to the hotel, marveling aloud that it had only been that morning that he slipped out for a walk. So much had happened.

Finally, all was quiet. Letty sat in bed, propped up on several pillows, cradling her sleeping daughter in her arms as Javier leaned over from his chair right beside the bed, his arms encircling both his women.

"So beautiful," he mused. Then he grinned up at Letty – his head was several inches lower. "Thank god, she didn't get my nose."

Letty laughed. "I _like_ your nose!" she scolded.

" _Thank_ you," he replied gravely, but then added regretfully, "but it wouldn't look good on a little girl." He grinned again. "Especially if it was full-size. It'd cover her entire face!"

"Well, maybe she'll grow one out as she gets bigger."

He gave her a grinning side-eye. "You _do_ have it in for her!" and Letty actually giggled.

Javier studied Letty for a moment, smiling fondly. "Okay, Mamacita," he finally said. "You've kept it a secret until now, but I _know_ you have it all picked out. What is our daughter's name?"

She bit her lips. "I _do_ have one - two, but now that you're here, they're both up for discussion."

"So what _are_ they?"

"Angelina... Javiera," she said softly, spacing them out.

He stared at her a moment, misty-eyed, then reached to gently stroke the baby's hair. "Little Angel," he said softly, the first name's actual meaning in English. "I like that. Very much." Then he tipped his head slightly, grimacing. "But I'd like to propose another middle name."

Letty was rather attached to both names, but she wasn't going to back down from her promise to him. "What?"

He took a breath. "Ava." His sister's name echoed in both their ears a moment. "I'm never going to see her again," he admitted, "and it's better that she doesn't know. But this way... It would be like... This would be a little piece of her, that I could keep."

Letty was deeply touched. "I don't agree with you, that it's better she doesn't know. But I'm not going to argue with you – at least, not right now. Because for all these months..." She licked her lips, then tipped her head towards the baby. "She's been the only piece of _you_ , that _I_ had left."

"Not any more," he refuted her instantly, his voice low and intense. He rose from the chair and twisted to sit on the bed beside her knees, looking deeply into her eyes. "Now you have every bit of me, always." He leaned over and kissed her to seal it.

Letty gave him a misty smile, then turned to look at the baby again, holding her up closer. "Angelina... Ava... Pereira," she pronounced, spacing the names out to give each one proper due. Then she glanced up, playfully puzzled. "I'm sensing a trend..."

He chuckled. "Then let me break it," he told her apologetically. "Perez. Not Pereira."

She slid a mock-alarmed look on her face, staring as if seeing him for the first time. "Who are you?"

Another chuckle. "Diego Javier Perez. I just switched the first two names."

"And took Perez."

Javier nodded. "There's a reason for that, but I'll tell you later."

She thought for a moment, then went for a Feeling Left Out Pout. "Do I get a new name?"

A smile slowly stretched his mouth. "If you like. I _have_ thought of one," he admitted, "but I haven't done anything official with it yet."

"Well?"

"Nicoleta. That way you can still be Letty. Or Nika, if you like."

"Nicoleta," she said thoughtfully, trying it on her tongue. "I like that. That's pretty! Nicoleta..." Another thought. "Do I get a middle name?"

"Yes. But this one, you can't refuse." Her eyebrows shot up at that, but he went ahead before she asked. "Rosa. Because you are my beautiful rose. Even when the whole world around us is nothing but _shit_ ," the way he spat the word out made it even uglier, "I look at you, and I am reminded that there _is_ beauty, and kindness, and love in the world." He'd lifted one hand and was caressing her cheek as he said the words.

She gaped at him a moment, tears prickling. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me," she got out at last.

"And it will not be the last," he replied, leaning over to kiss her again.

After a moment, he looked at her seriously. "Letty," he began, then softly snorted. "I was going to say, that if you have found a home, and don't want to leave, of course I will stay with you. But I have a feeling that's no longer true, even if it was."

"No," she admitted sourly. "I think the hurricane just took care of that. So what was that 'but' I heard coming?"

"Come back with me," he said, his whisper conversely intensifying the request. "Like I said before, I've been starting a new life. And it's a _good_ life. I have a good job, for a good man – and it's a hundred percent legit." Paulo's phrase had stuck in his head, and he'd glommed onto it, liking how it sounded. "I _really_ _am_ a private chef, for an executive and his family. I'm also in charge of his personal security, but that's nothing. Codes and routines. And sometimes I act as his bodyguard – but I swear, if we have any trouble at all – and we did, once, at the beginning – we give it to the police and let them handle it. Letty..." His pause for a breath, looking even more intensely into her eyes, gave the next bit all the gravitas it deserved. "I'm _done_ with what I used to do. I haven't done it since we left the South, and I swear, I will _never_ do it again. I'm legit. A new life. I make good money, live in a good place – I can take care of both of you, you won't have to work. But I'm only half alive without you. It's empty, no color. Please come back with me." He ended on the simple, half-whispered plea.

There was a whole lot there to absorb, but she already knew what her answer would be. However... "What's the catch?" she asked, dry as a desert.

Javier's eyebrows flared, and he cocked his head. "Why do you think there's a catch?"

She grinned. "One, there's _always_ a catch. Two, you're giving me the hard sell."

That made him think a bit, and he grinned ruefully. "I am, aren't I? Okay. The catch is, it's not in the US. It's in Ecuador."

" _Ecuador_? Where is _that?_ "

American ignorance of world geography had long since ceased to amaze him. "It's a country in South America, right on the equator. That's why it's called Ecuador – Ecuador means 'equator'."

"So we'd have to emigrate, is what you're saying."

He winced, then admitted, "I already have." Pulling his new passport out of his back pocket, he opened it up for her. "That's a genuine, legit passport." At her look of astonishment, he shrugged. "It was the reward I asked for in return for helping the police with that problem we had. I'll reverse it if you really want to stay here. But getting you into the country would be no problem – both Paulo and I would sponsor you. Easy." Angelina squirmed and grunted in her sleep just then, and they both looked down and smiled. Then Javier went on, "the other thing is, a lot of people there do speak English, like Paulo – my boss – and his kids are learning in school, but it would probably be good for you to learn some Spanish," he finished apologetically.

She laughed at him, and when he reacted in surprise, said, "Yo hablo un poco ya."

Now he was even more astonished. "Since when?"

"Since the last few months," she admitted. She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. "I wanted Angelina to grow up speaking both Spanish and English, as a way of knowing you. And the only way to really do that, was if _I_ spoke it first. So, Christian and I – he wanted to learn it because some of his students speak Spanish – we've been going through one of those language apps together." She laughed again at a memory. "Plus, it's been fun at work. A lot of my customers speak Spanish."

"What have you been doing?"

"I'm a bartender again," she informed him, "at Red Lobster. Sometimes I'll catch a customer saying something to me in Spanish – a catcall, and I'll give him a huge smile and say," she put the smile on her face and slipped into her broadest Southern drawl, " 'Oh, Ah'd _love_ to learn Spanish! Tell me what you said!' And they'll go beet red – it wasn't exactly _polite._ So I'll give them a break and say, 'or you can teach me something else, instead.' " She chuckled. "Sometimes they'll actually repeat what they said – the ballsy ones – but mostly they'll say another phrase. I can serve you a beer in Spanish – or any other drink – and tell you how much it is!"

He'd been laughing along with her story. Now he nodded appreciatively. "Numbers – and money – are not a bad place to start." Then he turned serious – he really didn't want to rip her away from her life if she wanted to stay. "So you've got a good job."

"I _did_ ," she said ruefully. "I have a feeling it's been washed away." The reports they'd gotten from the Weather Channel of Panama City had not been good. The hurricane had passed through and was churning quickly northeast towards the Carolina coast, rapidly losing strength as it went, but the area where it had made landfall was devastated. Then she turned it back – she knew what he was hinting at. "But nowhere near as good as yours. Javi... yours is more important. So much more. Of _course_ I'll go with you – _we_ will." She caressed his bearded cheek again, one part of her simply reveling in the wonder of being able to touch him again. "A brand new life – all of us together – in a brand new place... sounds like heaven."

That slow, sexy smile claimed his lips. "It will be. Oh, it will be. I promise." He leaned over and kissed her thoroughly.

When he drew back, she was smiling. "I like that much better without the beard net," she admitted cheekily.

He grinned agreement, and kissed her again.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Chapter Thirty-Four**_

The next morning, Christian entered the hospital just as visiting hours began, a bag of Egg McMuffins and hash browns in one hand, and a tray of cappuccinos in the other, "gifts" to the new parents. He rode the elevator up to the maternity ward, amazingly the only passenger in the elevator. As the door opened onto his floor, though, he came face-to-face with Nurse Hannah, standing just across the hall behind her medicine cart. The moment she saw him, her eyes flew open wide and she stared at him as hard as she could, nearly screaming silently and shaking her head ever-so-slightly. Christian stopped himself before stepping through the elevator door, wisely keeping his own mouth shut, and knitted his brows in confusion at her.

Seeing he understood the warning, she darted just her eyes swiftly to her right. Christian edged forward, catching the door as it began to close and holding it open with a foot, stuck his head out a bare inch to look – and ducked quickly back inside as he caught sight of the backs of two uniformed police officers, talking to Doctor Peters. His own eyes widened in surprise, and he mouthed "Letty?" to Hannah.

The nurse gave a quick, jerky nod, then, glancing again to her right to make sure she was unobserved, she swiftly brought her two wrists together for an instant before dropping her hands again, miming handcuffs. _Shit_ , thought Christian. His mind raced into overdrive, and he shook his head at her, pointed towards the police, and mimed stroking a beard on his chin while mouthing "Diego!"

Hannah's eyes cleared, and she briefly cocked her head to one side, mouthing cheekily, "Who?" Christian grinned. Then she glanced at the police again to make sure they were still turned away, nodded the all clear to Christian, and dipped her head forward to look down at her tray – so she could truthfully say later that she had not seen him _enter_ the ward.

Christian edged out of the elevator and scooted to his right, his back to the wall, the few feet till he reached the intersection of the x-shaped ward. Thank goodness Letty's room was at the far end of this branch – he had no need to try to cross the open hallway, or walk directly away from them while in view. He walked as quickly as he silently could down the hall and through her door, finding Javier and Letty sitting together on her bed, cradling their newborn daughter. Both looked up at him with wide smiles – he liked to think it was for _him_ and not the non-hospital food he brought – but then he brushed that thought away. "Thank god you're both here!" he said in a near panic. "Letty, there's two police down the hall talking to the doctor – I think they're here to arrest you!"

" _WHAT?"_ both parents reacted, Javier adding a beat later, _"Why?"_

Letty looked daggers at him. "Why do you _think?"_ she nearly hissed. He got the point immediately: the two deaths at the house he had bought for her.

"Oh, _hell_ no!" He had not come this far to have her snatched away from him. He had been holding the baby, now he stood rapidly with her and, reaching for a baby blanket to wrap her in, laid her down on it at the foot of the bed. "Letty, put your clothes on. We're getting out of here!"

Letty nodded, not arguing for once. She threw the covers back and swung her feet out, directing Christian to put down the food and _help_ her for god's sake by getting the clothes she'd come in the day before out of the drawer by her bedside – and then grabbing all the diapers and pads from the same chest and cramming as many as he could into the hospital bag she'd brought. Javier, finishing with the baby, looked around briefly. How could they delay the cops, for even a second? He grabbed the food bag and coffee tray and put them into the rolling bassinet – they had enough to carry and could buy more – and pushed the bassinet into the private bathroom, turning on the light and fan, and opening the tap in the sink for water noise, then locking the door and closing it. It would appear the baby was back in the nursery, while Letty was in the bathroom.

"Ready?" he asked the others, and they nodded, Letty just slipping on her shoes.

"Which way?" Christian asked quickly. Javier merely pointed to the side wall of the room – away from the center hall – and said, "There's a stairway right next to us. Just get to it and down. Help Letty." Javier picked up the baby again – thank goodness she was sound asleep – while Christian put the bag on his shoulder and took Letty's arm, and they quickly crept to the door. Inching it open, Javier saw Hannah rolling her cart towards them, but the hallway was still clear behind her. He waved his hand at her, shaking his head – and she got the message in return. She stopped her cart a few doors away and turned around, facing the other way.

Just then, the door to the patient room beside her opened and another nurse rolled _her_ cart out. Hannah grabbed her arm and practically spun her away, saying a bit too loud, "Annie, give me a hand with this chart, I don't understand it?" Annie gave Hannah a mystified look, and – seeing movement out of the corner of her eye – began to look behind them towards Javier, but Hannah grabbed her arm again and hissed, "You don't see _anything._ "

"Okay," Annie murmured, going along with the crazy person and turning away, picking up the "offending" chart. Hannah reached her other hand behind her back and waved the trio down the hall. Javier sent Christian and Letty first, before taking up the rear. Just as he was about to go through the stairway door, he turned again and sent a whispered, "Thanks!" down the hall to the two nurses. Annie had caught on by that time, and was intently – if a little nonsensically – pointing things out on the chart. Hannah reached behind her back again, crossing her fingers to Javier for luck. He grinned and slipped through the door, closing it silently behind him.

Letty and Christian hadn't started down yet – it looked like Letty was going to have trouble navigating the stairs, only eighteen hours out of childbirth. Javier took charge, handing the baby to Christian. "Here. You take _this_ little lady, and I'll take _this_ one!" he said, picking Letty swiftly up and holding her close, while her arms wrapped around his neck. "Go!" Down they went, Christian in front.

"You're _supposed_ to carry me over the threshold of our new house," Letty told her husband dryly.

"I will!" he replied, wounded outrage. "Is there anything that says I can't carry you before then?"

"No."

"Then shut up and let me concentrate."

Starting on the fifth floor, they flew down three flights before Javier told Christian to get out of the stairwell. "This is the first place they'll search." Just outside the door, they found a clutch of wheelchairs under the window at the end of another long hallway of private rooms, and Javier set Letty down in one, had Christian hand her the baby, then picked up a blanket from another and tucked it in around them both. "Hold her down low in your lap." With the blanket loosely folded above the baby, at a glance she would be invisible – as long as she didn't wake up and start crying.

Javier turned to Christian. "Think. What side of the building are we on, and where is the Emergency room from here?" The older man wasn't sure, but thought it was a quarter turn to the left. "Good. The loading docks are just around the corner from the Emergency entrance to the left. Go get the car and bring it to the docks. We'll meet you there. Don't run!" he added as Christian took off at a fast pace.

"Who's running?" he called back, not slowing.

Javier stepped behind Letty and took the handles of the wheelchair, and began pushing her down the hallway towards the middle of the hospital, not too fast, not too slow. Letty suddenly began giggling. Javier leaned over to whisper in her ear with an amused air, "What in the _world_ are you laughing at?" covering the fact that he'd rather hear her giggles than any other sound in the world just then.

"This reminds me of that scene in that Star Trek movie, where they're escaping from the hospital – you know, the one with the whales?" she prompted him over her shoulder.

He gave her a completely uncomprehending look. "I have absolutely _no_ idea what you're talking about." That just made her laugh harder.

Javier, thinking fast, did _not_ take the central elevators down the other two floors, as those were the same ones that reached the maternity ward. Instead, he went down another hall to the far wing, and found another set. Magnificently, this one let them out steps away from the back corridors leading to the labs, where patients weren't really supposed to be – but he just kept going, on the principle that people rarely stopped you if you simply looked like you knew where you were going. He was right – none of the several busy hospital employees they passed did more than glance at the couple.

Miraculously, the loading docks were completely deserted, no deliveries at the moment – and there was Christian, just pulling up. They got mother and baby transferred into the car in record time (she took the blanket with her into the back seat), and Javier hid the wheelchair behind a low wall from sheer unthinking habit, minimizing the chances of physical evidence being discovered. A few seconds later, and the four were calmly exiting the hospital parking lot and turning right. No police in sight.

"Where to?" Christian asked with a grin.

"Back to my car in the parking garage," Javier told him. "I moved it last night; it's down on the second floor. We've got to get out of town as soon as we can." Christian nodded, making a left turn at the corner to put a couple of blocks between them and the hospital before he began detouring back – they were on the far side of the hospital from the garage.

"I don't suppose there's any way we could go back to the hotel room for all the rest of my stuff," Letty moaned. "It's only clothes, I know, but I hate abandoning it after leaving behind all the stuff in Florida."

Christian looked at her solemnly in the rearview mirror, holding up his hand to forestall Javier's reply. "There's no need," he said quietly. "I cleaned out the hotel this morning. It's all crammed into the trunk."

"Why?" she asked, as Javier said over her, "Did you know the cops were coming?"

"No," Christian answered the other man. He started to say something, then let his breath out in a puff. Looking back at Letty in the mirror, he began again. "I'm sorry, my friend, but now that he's here, this really is goodbye. We're going in different directions from here. I'm headed back down south this morning, back to Panama City."

"But..." began Javier. He'd been watching the weather news, too. "There's nothing left down there, old buddy. And they're not letting anyone back into the disaster area anyway."

Christian shook his head. "They're letting first responders in, and that's what I'll be – as soon as I hook up with the Red Cross, anyway." He held up a hand again to stop their objections. "I found out last night that they never evacuated the inmates from the prison where I teach. Nearly two hundred men. They just left them there."

Both of his listeners were in shock. "They just... _left_ them there to _drown?"_ Letty got out.

Christian nodded. "The warden and a few of his guards stayed, I know that. The storm surge through there was ten feet high – _but_ the prison was on slightly higher ground, and it's three stories tall. Hopefully they at least let the prisoners out of their cells and up to the upper levels to ride it out. But they're going to need food, water..." He shook his head. "I'm going to stop at a grocery store and cram this piece of junk car with as much stuff that doesn't need cooking as I can find, then head south and look for a boat." He gave a self-deprecating shrug.

"You're a good man, Christian," Javier told him seriously. "That's... amazingly brave and generous."

Christian shrugged. "Some of those men were my students. I can't just turn my back on them, like the rest of society has," he said quietly. They had turned into the garage. "Which one is yours?"

The spot next to it was empty, and the next five minutes was controlled chaos, as Christian showed Javier how to buckle the baby's car seat in properly, and Letty went through the bags in the trunk to pull hers out – Christian had made sure to keep their things segregated. Letty then ducked her head into Javier's car to make sure for herself that the baby was properly buckled in – and still sleeping soundly. As she backed out and turned around, she found Christian holding out a long, round bundle – the rolled-up painting of the Wanderer.

"I was just thinking you ought to keep him," she demurred. "You need him more than I do, now." She didn't gesture to Javier; she didn't need to.

Christian glanced down at the roll. "I'd like to get him back some day, but for now, where I'm headed – you have a better chance of keeping him safe."

"But how will I get him back to you?"

"You both have my cell phone number!"

"But we can't contact you – at least we shouldn't, not if the authorities are after Letty – and me, if they find out. They'll likely be watching you for a while after the dust settles." Javier told him, taking the painting out of his hands and stashing it in the trunk of his car before closing the lid.

Christian absorbed that. "Should I delete your numbers out of my phone?"

Javier shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. We won't have these numbers – or probably these phones – much longer. They won't be able to track us that way."

Letty looked desperately at her husband. "I can't just... there's got to be _some_ way we can keep in touch." She thought a moment, before coming up with an idea, her specialty. "Why don't we use Twitter? If we're always careful – set up some silly, innocuous little hashtag that nobody would ever stumble on. Don't ever use our real names, as our usernames or in tweets, don't say _anything_ plainly. Just ordinary little tweets that don't have any hidden meanings, just to let each other know we're okay. We could even use anonymizers to log in. We could do that, couldn't we?" she was practically begging.

Javier smiled at his wife, unable to refuse her anything she wanted that badly. He didn't want to lose track of Christian, either. "Okay, as long as you can stick to those rules, and not run the risk of exposing us or where we're going. Give me a hashtag."

"I've got one," Christian said with a wry grin. "One that _nobody_ would ever guess." He paused, then pronounced it carefully, watching both of them for their reactions. "CocktailsInTheSprinter."

He wasn't disappointed. Both of them goggled, then cracked up.

"Seriously, though," Javier finally managed to get himself under control. "Don't use any names, _ever_. Set up a different Twitter account just for this purpose, and don't _ever_ log into it on any of your own devices – always use a public computer, at a library or store. And don't try to be cute and use a code – if it _is_ being read, they'll figure it out faster than we will."

"I got it, don't worry. I'm not that old," Christian grinned at him, then turned serious. "But I'm going to break your rules just once. I'm setting up one single code, right now, one name. If I _ever_ tweet _anything_ about Rhonda, that means I've found out that the cops are on to you, they know you're not dead, and they're looking for you." He held up a hand. "If I _don't_ use it, that doesn't mean they haven't, it just means I haven't discovered it."

"Okay," Javier returned, just as serious. Letty shot him a puzzled glance for acquiescing immediately to his rules being broken, but his next words cleared it up. "And then I'm going to add another one." He started to speak, then turned to Letty. "Does he know what her name is?" he asked, pointing to the baby. She shook her head no, and he grinned and gestured, go ahead.

"Angelina," she said quietly, and Christian grinned.

"I like it."

"So, if the cops – any cops – start to close in on you, and you are about to be arrested and charged, with _anything_... tweet something about Angelina, anything at all, just use the name. And I will come find you, and get you out of there. We won't tweet every day, but we'll check it every day, just in case."

"That's one hell of a promise," Christian commented, taken aback.

Javier spluttered a moment, looked away, then tried again. "Christian... my _whole_ life, since I was _sixteen,_ I have had literally a handful of people that I could consider a friend. You are one of them. Even though we've barely spent any time together. Even if it's only because of what you've done for Letty. Still, you are a friend. And I am _not_ going to sit back and let you take the fall for me. That is _not going to happen. Ever._ It's already happened, once too often. It's not going to happen again. So if they start closing in, send that tweet, and I _will_ come find you."

"I appreciate that," Christian said sincerely. "I'm not turning you down, but I may not be able to wait for you." He thought a moment, then grinned. "You remember where that Holiday Inn Express was, where we all stayed?"

Javier shrugged, but Letty knew. She supplied the name of the town, and Christian nodded.

"If I need to bug out, that's where I'll wait for you. You see that tweet, you check there first."

Javier nodded. "Good enough." He held out a hand, and the two men shook on it.

Letty wasn't settling for no handshake. She threw her arms around her old friend's neck and hugged him tight. "I hate saying goodbye," she whispered. "And I can never, _ever_ thank you enough, for everything you've done."

Pulling away slightly, he smiled mistily at her. "Do you think that was a one-way street? You helped me, too, you know," he said softly.

"How?" She was thoroughly confused.

"By helping me find myself again. I didn't like myself very much when I was with Rhonda. I didn't like what she made me into. Oh, it wasn't all her fault – that damn job had left me depressed and feeling worthless – but she sure didn't help. It turned me into a whipped puppy. But helping you... helped me find myself – and my backbone. Made me remember that I _have_ a voice, that I _am_ a good person, that I _can_ help others." He gave her a squeeze. " _Thank_ you." Considering a moment, he nodded again. "And now I'm going to use all that, now that I've found a purpose."

Speechless, all she could do was squeeze him back and kiss his cheek. When she tried to let go, though, he held her tight. "Take care of yourself, okay?" he whispered again. "And take good care of that little angel, and that broken man over there. They both need you, so much."

"I will," she whispered in return, then backed away, wiping tears. Javier stepped forward then, surprising Christian by giving him a hug, as well.

"I admire you, what you're planning to do. I wish I could help. Do you need some money for the supplies?" he asked, but the other man shook his head.

"I've plenty of money for this, but thanks. What you _can_ do, is take care of our two little girls. Okay?"

"You bet. You take care too – I mean it, be careful. Watch out for snakes... and gators... and prisoners." Startled, Christian stared, and Javier smiled grimly. "They may be your students, some of them, but they're in there for a reason, after all. Just because you're trying to help, doesn't mean none of them will turn on you. Watch your back." 

"Well, the good news is that it's only a medium-security prison. No really violent criminals. But I take your point – especially after what they must be going through right now. I'll be careful."

"Do you have a gun?"

"No, and I won't get one," he said firmly.

"Okay, but please... find someone who _does_ have one – a sheriff or just a good old boy, and take him with you to watch your back. Please? For Letty?"

If he hadn't put her name on it, Christian might have ignored him, but instead he nodded. "Okay. That's a good idea."

All had been said, and the two Perez's climbed into the front seat of their car. Christian poked his head in the back to give the baby a final kiss. "Goodbye, little angel. Hopefully I'll see you again some day, all grown up."

Javier was about to start the car when Letty cried out to stop. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she began, "but I _hate_ just leaving without saying goodbye to Richard – or Sandy!" Taking a deep breath, she looked seriously at Christian standing beside her door. "In a couple of weeks, when the dust is settled, would you call each of them and tell them I said goodbye, and _thank you_ for everything they've each done? And tell Richard I'm sorry for ducking out on the job – he was going to give me a promotion!"

Christian nodded back. "I will." Then his mouth quirked. "I can't believe you're saying that, either."

"I know! What's gotten into me?" She was about half serious.

"Maybe you've finally grown up, and stopped faking it," he told her, completely serious. "You're actually a responsible adult now."

"Oh, heaven forbid!" The old sarcastic Letty was back. "The world will never be the same!" She gave him one last, fond look. "Love you, Christian."

"Love you, Letty." He leaned over to look through the car. "You too, _Clyde._ " He poured as much heavy sarcasm as he could onto the name Rhonda had called Javier.

So it was that they were all laughing as at last the new family backed out, turned, and drove away.

Christian watched them go until they turned the corner out of sight, then sighed, and walked slowly around his car, making sure the trunk and all the doors were closed. He climbed heavily behind the wheel, closed the driver's door – and sat there a few minutes, letting the tears come, the tears he would never allow Letty to see.

Then he lifted his head again, wiping his face with his hands. "Enough of this," he sniffed. "Time to go." So he started his car, backed out, and drove south into history – the quiet, unassuming, but doggedly tenacious hero who would single-handedly save the lives of one hundred and seventy-three inmates, and their eleven guards.


	35. Chapter 35

_**Chapter Thirty-Five**_

Letty would realize later how incredibly lucky they were in their timing: not only that Christian had seen the cops in time for them to slip away, but simply that Angelina had _just_ finished nursing and fallen heavily asleep, allowing them to escape the hospital without her attracting attention and get well away from the town, as well, before having to stop to attend a fretful, hungry or wet baby.

They went through a McDonald's drive-thru to replace their abandoned breakfast before getting on the highway. "So, what's the plan?" Letty asked as she and her husband ate. "I know you've got one," she added.

Javier grinned. "You'll see. Don't worry." He had emailed Paulo the night before as he moved his car – and then called him to finalize things when the immediate reply showed his "brother" was still up and working.

Letty suddenly wasn't having any more mystery, though. "No, Javi... _talk_ to me." That was going to need explaining. "That's how we went wrong before. We never _talked_ to each other, never told each other what was going on. I was just as bad as you," she reassured him, "I'd just tell you to drive, and wouldn't even say where we were going till we got there. But we can't do that anymore. If we're going to make it as a couple, as a _family_... If we're going to be successful, and raise this munchkin up so she's not cuckoo, we have _got_ to start _talking_ to each other!"

Javier was slowly chewing the last bites of his McMuffin – he had missed those sandwiches these last months, and a corner of his mind had vowed to start making them for the kids before school some mornings. But he was also chewing over what she'd said, realizing the truth of it. "You're right," he replied slowly. "You're right..."

He was staring off into the distance, somewhere very far away. "Javi?" she brought him back.

"I was just trying to remember if I had _ever_ witnessed that kind of talk in my own home growing up. I can't remember a single time when my parents actually discussed _anything._ "

"So... let's be different! Talk to me! What's the plan?"

He took a sip of coffee. "We're headed to Orlando. We're going to go east and a bit north, first, to try to get around the worst of the hurricane's destruction, then go down I-95 to I-4. We'll take it easy and get there in a couple-three days."

"Why Orlando?" she wanted to know, and he grinned.

"Paulo, my boss, has a private jet. He flies to different ports a couple of times a month. This weekend, he's bringing his kids up to Disney – they need a break. They're flying up Friday evening, and back on Sunday – and on Sunday, he'll just have three extra passengers going back. We just have to get to the airpark and get on board. Tony, the pilot, will send me a message saying exactly where he parked."

"But I don't have a passport!" she pointed out, but he shook his head and laughed, telling her how they wouldn't be inspected at either end of that flight.

"He's a well-known and respected businessman in Ecuador, and as for the Americans, they never worry about people smuggling things out, only in."

"You're sure?" She was still nervous about the whole thing, but he smiled, reassuring her.

"Positive. By late Sunday night, you'll be settling into your new home, Señora Perez." It was only a four-hour flight.

"So how did you end up in Ecuador? Tell me _everything_ ," she demanded, and he did, settling in and walking through the last few months – everything but the truth about Miguel; that very painful revelation he saved for later.

"His _wife?_ " Letty was dumbfounded at Sofina's arrest for her part in the affair.

"His _ex_ -wife, but the mother of his two younger kids: Maribel and Paulito, fifteen and thirteen. Oh, but it gets worse. It's come out since then that the two of them, Sofina and Pablo, had planned to marry after everything was done. She was aiming at getting control of Paulo's entire estate – well, the half that would go to the younger kids, while they were minors – and good luck to them getting it away from her when they became adults."

"If any was left," Letty interjected, and he nodded.

"And he would become the President and CEO of the company, getting all those profits, _and_ reaping whatever the drug cartels promised him for moving their product. They thought they were going to become ultra-rich, just raking it all in." He paused. "Anyway, that's why they could all use a break. It's been really bad at school, but the kids have been champs, toughing it out."

They drove for a bit in silence, thinking about what some people will do for money. Then Javier went on, filling in the details of his decision to return to find her, and finally, how that was accomplished.

"That was _amazing_ timing," she complimented him, grinning, and he agreed.

"I could almost believe in angels," he quipped, then stretched. "Your turn. Letty... why couldn't I find you, even way back at the beginning? What happened to you? How did you drop out of sight so quickly, and stay hidden?"

How could she tell him what she had done? The shame and fear for the tiny baby riding behind her was still overwhelming. She turned to look out the window, tears prickling. "I... I can't," she finally got out. "I'll tell you later, when we stop. Not while we're driving." That didn't really have anything to do with it, but it would give her some time to come to grips with telling him.

She thought. He looked at her profile, strained and hurt – and suddenly wrenched the wheel over, taking the exit they were about to pass at the last second, down the ramp, and through the green light into a Wendy's, where he parked at the back, facing a little park. He shut off the engine and turned to her, unbuckling his seat belt without thinking and putting his long arms around his beloved.

"Okay, baby. We're stopped. Please... _talk_ to me," he turned it back on her, his voice low and intense. "What happened?"

That started the tears for real. She turned back into his embrace and put her head on his shoulder – partly so she couldn't see his face, or he hers – and the story of how she'd lost him and then herself came tumbling out, until she'd sobered up in the hospital and discovered she was pregnant.

"So I've had them running every test they could think of, while I was pregnant and after she was born – that's why they ran so many tests on her in the hospital yesterday – to make sure she's okay."

"But she _is_ okay," he put in, trying to reassure her. "Everything's fine."

"So far!" she wailed. "But something could still appear later – she could be developmentally delayed, have mental or emotional problems – _anything!_ "

"And we'll be watching, like any parents, and if something does go wrong, we'll _deal_ with it!" He wasn't quite getting it.

She shook her head against his shoulder, violently. "Javi... I will _never ever_ be able to forgive myself if I damaged our daughter through my stupidity!" She burst into wild sobs.

There it was. Javier held her tight against him – as well as he could in a car, anyway – and let her get it out of her system for a few minutes while he thought it through. Then he began working his magic to soothe her and calm her down. "Shhhh, shhhhh. Hush, baby. Shhhhh." He pulled back slightly, making her sit up so he could see her face, wiping away the tears with his fingers. "Letty..." When he had her attention, he went on. "I forgive you," he said simply. She tried to shake her head, but he stopped her. "No, listen. _Listen_ to me, baby. We can only be held responsible for the things we did _knowingly_ , and you _didn't know_ you were pregnant. You stopped the minute you _did_ know, didn't you?"

"Yes, but – "

"No buts," he tried, but she wasn't having any.

"But the damage could already have been done!"

"But there _isn't_ any damage that can be seen so far. And if there is, we'll _deal_ with it, _together._ But _you_..." he paused for emphasis, "will _not_ be held to blame. You didn't know. _You didn't know._ I forgive you. You have to forgive yourself."

He _knew_ that wasn't going to go over well, and it didn't, as she began shaking her head. He rode over her. "Letty, you _have_ to. Or else you'll always be so wracked with guilt over possibilities that you'll _never_ be able to simply _enjoy_ our baby, watching her grow. You'll never smile at her when you hold her. She'll never see you smiling or laughing, and she'll grow up wondering, 'Why can't I make Mommy smile? Why can't I make her laugh? There must be something wrong with _me_.' Letty... that's something I know about," he told her quietly. "Please... _please..._ don't do that to our angel." He stopped a moment to let her absorb that. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him. "I forgive you. You need to forgive yourself, and move on. Trust yourself, and trust me, to watch over her, and simply love and enjoy her every minute. Okay?" She was silent, and a tiny smile stretched the corners of his mouth. "I want you to say it."

It took a minute, but she finally whispered, "I forgive myself."

"Again."

"I forgive myself," a little stronger. "I didn't know."

"And now keep repeating it, every day, until you believe it."

She snorted softly. "Fake it till I make it. Again."

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's a saying because it works."

"I'll try," she finally said. "That's the best I can promise."

"Okay." He pulled her back into his arms, kissing her forehead. After a moment, though, he couldn't help but backtrack. "You tried to kill yourself?" he asked, his voice suddenly cracking at the thought.

She nodded. "Slit my wrists. It didn't work – as usual." She had tried before; he remembered what he'd learned of her tracking her down the first day.

"Well, I can't pretend to be upset at that." His words were light, but the emotion in his voice belied the flippancy. He picked up her arm, intending to bring her wrist up to see if there was a scar – and stopped, puzzled, as he spotted the new tattoo. He held it out a few inches to read it. "SCS?" He looked into her eyes, puzzled and surprised. He never would have expected ink on her arm.

"It stands for Straight, Clean, and Sober," she said softly, and grimaced. "I needed the reminder, sometimes."

"Maybe I should get one," he said speculatively, and she snorted.

"You have _never_ had a problem with clean and sober!"

"Yeah, but straight? I'm still working on that one." Bringing her wrist up to his lips, he tenderly kissed the tat and the scar it seemed to stitch together, then turned to pick up the other wrist to do the same.

That tat said something different, though. "JLM?" When she didn't reply immediately, he looked at her face, startled to see her nearly losing it again, her chin quivering. "Letty?"

"It's the only thing that kept me going through the night sometimes," she whispered brokenly through the new tears. It took her a couple more tries to get it out. "Javier Loved Me."

" _Loves,_ " he told her fiercely, emphasizing the S. " _Always._ Until my _very last breath._ " And holding her face with both his hands, he kissed her, with all the passion he'd been keeping inside for months.

And then the baby started crying.

They broke the kiss slowly, reluctantly, sharing a rueful grimace. "I guess we're going to have to get used to that, aren't we?" Javier asked plaintively.

"Yup. Every couple of hours. For the next several months, at least." At his slightly terrified look, she laughed and clarified, "Well, the intervals will slowly get longer, anyway."

"Oh, that makes it _much_ better." But she could tell his sarcasm was only skin deep. She started to unbuckle her seat belt, but he waved a hand. "Stay. I'll get her."

"Wait!" she suddenly cried as he started to open his car door. He turned back, startled and concerned. She knew she was being childish and ridiculous, but she couldn't help it. She pouted, only half playful. "I'm not balanced," she explained, and held up the JLM hand. "You didn't kiss this one."

Javier solemnly took that wrist and kissed the scar, making sure to do it exactly the same way and the same length of time as the first. "Better?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

 _Then_ he grinned, and went to get the baby.


	36. Chapter 36

_**Author's Note:** Got tissues?_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Six**_

As Javier opened the back door and leaned in to pick up Angelina from her car seat, a wave of stench hit his nose, and he stopped, gagging. " _Whew!_ "

"What? Oh, god!" Letty started to turn around, flinching back as _she_ smelled it, too.

"I think she needs changing," he deadpanned, then looked down at his now-wailing daughter. "How can such a tiny little thing make such a big stink?"

"I'll get it," Letty volunteered, going for her door handle again, but again, he stopped her.

"No, I'll change her. I can't feed her, but I can do this. Shit don't scare me," he grinned at Angelina as he got her out of the car seat.

Letty reached quickly for the diaper bag behind the other seat to hand it to her husband. "Do it in the trunk; there's room beside the bags." At his outraged look, she clarified cryptically. "It's a flat surface, the back seat isn't. Trust me."

"Okay," he acquiesced. "Come here, little stinky; Mommy says to put you in the trunk, where all the stinky bodies go."

" _What?"_ Letty cried. She twisted around in her seat as Javier raised the back hatch and set Angelina down on the level trunk floor. "That is _not... funny..._ Mister Perez!"

Javi raised his head so he could see her over the barrier, his face serious. He raised his eyebrows, then grinned and nodded. "Yeah, it is." Then he ducked down again, and she heard him croon in falsetto, giving the baby a voice, "Oh, hurry, Daddy, hurry! Get this nasty thing off me! It feels _terrible!_ " Letty had never heard him do anything like that before, and she snorted, then continued quietly giggling as she listened.

Suddenly he stopped. "Um... Letty?" She looked over her shoulder again as he raised his head above the barrier, his eyes now slightly terrified. "Is it supposed to be... greenish... black?"

"Yes!" She suddenly remembered. "Just for a few days. And smells fucking _terrible._ She's getting rid of, I don't know, extra iron I think? From the supplements _I've_ been taking."

"Oh, okay!" With the relieved reply, his head disappeared again and he resumed the falsetto, chiming in with her tiny newborn cry of outrage. "Daaaaaddyyyyy! Hurry UP!"

"Are her clothes okay?"

"Yes, Mommy," came the falsetto reply, making her giggle again, "my clothes are clean and dry!" He was remarkably fast for a brand-new father, bringing his red-faced infant around to Letty in another half minute with a snug new diaper and pajamas resnapped.

"Do _not_ leave that stinking thing in the trunk, please. There's a trash can right there."

"Si Señora."

As Javier climbed back into the driver's seat, his phone buzzed. He frowned as he looked at it – an email from KronosKai. He briefly explained who that was as he opened the message, then cursed at the contents. " _Fuck!_ "

"What?"

He sighed. "The police have put out an APB on you. 'Wanted for questioning', not arrest, but still. Description, 'mother with newborn baby'. It's under Raines-Pereira, so we'll have to avoid having you show ID."

"Anything about you?"

He scrolled on down, making sure he'd read the whole thing. "No. It briefly describes Christian, though, as a probable companion and accomplice." He looked up at her. "That will give us more cover, then."

"Is it statewide, or national?"

He looked again. "National. But highest priority in Alabama."

"I'll feel better once we get out of this state, then. How much further?"

He gave her the side-eye. "We already did. We're nearly to Atlanta."

"Oh. Well, that's good then," she brushed it off nonchalantly. "But let's still be very careful."

"Very."

* * *

And they were, stopping only in busy places to use the crowds themselves as camouflage. They called each other "Juan" and "Michelle" – two common names grabbed at random – whenever they were in public, and both of them adopted flat, midwestern accents – although Juan's inexplicably had a bit of a Texas twang. "I can't help it," he laughed when she teased him about it. "It's automatic. I don't know where I picked it up."

Late that afternoon, on the outskirts of another large city on I-95, they pulled into a hotel parking lot, one of several in the immediate area, full of tourists and hurricane escapees. Javier went in solo to check in, lucking into the last room, and they used a back stairway to reach the third-floor quarters. Letty called down an hour later to ask for a crib, so the desk wouldn't associate it with Javier, and they called out for Chinese food delivery.

Late that evening, Letty came out from the bathroom after a shower, finding Javier sitting on the far side of the king bed, leaning over the low crib beside it, lightly rubbing Angelina's belly and crooning to her to settle the fussy baby down. It was working. Letty paused to listen: he was speaking in mixed Spanish and English, but she understood enough of the former now to get the gist, if nothing else.

"Shhhh, little angel. Mommy and Daddy are both here, and we always will be. You will grow up knowing you are loved, and wanted, and approved of. You will _never_ have to question that, I swear. Shhhhh." As she quieted, Javier looked over his shoulder; he'd seen Letty in his periphery. "Well," he told her wearily, "I've heard that all new parents swear they will not repeat the mistakes _their_ parents made with _them._ I guess I'm no different."

"Me, neither," she replied, stepping up beside him and laying her arm around his shoulders, as he put his own arm around her waist. "Wow," she added, not quite sarcastic. "That's nice."

"What?" he looked up at her, mystified and ready to be outraged.

She gave him a raised eyebrow. "Being normal. For once."

He snorted, then nodded his head. "Yeah," he agreed. "It is." Reaching across with his other hand, he took a tiny hold of her nightgown and tugged it. "Come here. I need to tell you something." As she sat beside him on the bed, she took note of how drawn and pained his face looked. "This is something I need you to understand," he went on by way of preface. "I haven't been keeping it from you – I only just now found it all out myself."

 _This is going to be heavy,_ she realized. "Hang on," she said aloud, then, "Come here." Standing again, she moved around to the head of the bed, pulled down the covers, plumped up the pillows for them to lean on, and got in, beckoning him beside her. He followed suit, and she put her head on his shoulder as his arms came around her again, slipping her own arms around his waist. When they were comfortable, she prompted him, "Okay, go on."

It took him another moment, then he started as he had with Paulo, asking what she knew of Argentina and the Dirty War. Only a few paragraphs about that, she admitted. "But wasn't your – wasn't Oscar part of it?"

"How did you know that?"

"Your nieces said so, back at that damned dinner, when I asked them quietly what the hell was going on."

"Yes, he was. And thank you for using his name, instead of..." He let that one go, not quite ready yet. He told her briefly about the Disappeared, and the Lost Ones – the Children of the Disappeared. She was quicker than Paulo, straightening up immediately and hitching around in bed to stare at him.

" _You?_ " she whispered the question, horrified. Javier could only nod, his face wretched. "How did you find out?" she went on.

He picked his phone up off the nightstand, called up the picture of himself and Miguel on the docks and handed it to her. She recognized it immediately. "What was his name?"

"Miguel. Miguel Perez." She looked at him sharply, recognizing the last name, and he nodded the admission before laying out the facts of Miguel's life that he had learned from the pages of his personnel file, including their official birth dates – one day apart.

"But are you _sure?_ "

He nodded, confessing that he had kept Miguel's hairbrush from their shared ship's cabin in a zipper bag, complete with his twin's hair, and one day would run their DNA for proof, but he didn't need it to know the truth. "I never felt... deeply _connected_ to any of them, except Ava – and that was because she tried, so hard. None of the others..." He had to stop and breathe for a moment. "I could never get his approval, even though the others could. He would smile at them, but only push me harder, push me away. Letty..." Another long pause. "I swear, I didn't realize this until the last few months, after it was all over. I never thought it consciously. But I think..." He swallowed. "I think now... that one of the reasons I did..." He had to force himself to say the words. "that I killed people... is because... somehow inside, I thought... if I was more like him, did what he did..." Javier couldn't finish, so she did.

"He would approve of you at last?"

"Of course it didn't work. He just shoved me away, harder." Tears were now pouring down his face. "Letty... why couldn't he just tell me? That night, at dinner. Why couldn't he just say: 'oh, you're not my son, we adopted you, that's why'? Why couldn't he set me free?" It was the cry of an abandoned child.

Her hands and forearms were wrapped around his head, stroking his hair. "That _is_ why, _exactly._ Because he's – he _was –_ " she corrected herself; Teo had taken him and David out, "a fucking psychopath, a walking shitshow. He never did or said _anything_ to benefit anyone but himself. The concept of helping someone else literally never once entered his head, his whole life. The idea of other people having feelings and being worth consideration was entirely foreign to him. That's how psychopaths work." She shook her head, and returned to the point. "He didn't set you free because it never occurred to him to do so, or would have made sense why." He was sobbing openly now, and she pulled his head down onto her shoulder, stroking his back as he let out the pain at last.

After a while, the tears eased, and he sat up again. It seemed he wasn't done. _Oh, god, what else could there be?_ she thought. "I told you, that night... that it didn't bother me, what I did. That I didn't believe I was evil. But now that I know why – all the why's... now I do. I _was_ evil."

" _'Was'!"_ she cried, soft but intent. _"Not any more!"_

He shook his head again. It seemed there was one more hard knot. "The very worst thing, that I realized... Letty!" His voice when he said her name, cracked and laden with pain and sorrow, shredded her heart. "You know the old joke... 'oh, it wasn't me, it was my evil twin!' Letty... That was _me._ I _was_ Miguel's evil twin! And he took the blame for everything _I_ did!"

"Only _after_ he died! And _you_ didn't cause that!" He started to shake his head at that, but she caught his face with her hands and stilled it. "No, listen to me. I listened to you, now _you_ listen to _me._ " His face said he wasn't going to believe, but he let her speak. "He was there to buy drugs, wasn't he? Didn't _he_ contact – what was his name? Your contact?"

"Marco."

"And Marco contacted you. So if it hadn't been _you_ there that night, it would have been somebody else. And none of you had anything to do with those goddamn gangs that started shooting. Miguel's getting wounded – and you – was completely by accident. And you _did not cause_ him being there. Listen to me. _You were not responsible for his death._ " She waited a beat, trying to see the light in his eyes. "I want to hear you say that," she demanded.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally whispered, "I wasn't responsible."

"His death was _not_ your fault."

Another few beats. "It wasn't my fault." She was satisfied, as he had been earlier that day. It would take time for both their self-messages to really sink in deep.

"But..." he started, but she put her fingers over his lips to stop him.

"As for what happened later, the cops thinking he was you, and pinning all your crimes on him? You know what? I don't think he would have been unhappy. No, listen. You know I don't believe in any kind of afterlife. But I think if there _was_ one, and he was somewhere looking down, and knew what had happened? I don't think he would be unhappy. It didn't affect his _life_. And after..." She paused, and whispered the last momentous ideas so softly, as though to say them any louder might shatter them. "It was the only gift he could give you... his twin brother, who he never knew in life. _He..._ set you free. And I think he would have been glad to do it if he knew." Whether it was true or not, she couldn't possibly know, and of course she didn't believe in an afterlife, but if it helped ease her husband's pain... and if Miguel _had_ been anything like Javier, she _did_ believe it would have made him happy to give this single posthumous gift to his unknown twin in so much pain.

Javier was feeling even more devastated than before at this way of looking at what had happened, but... he grabbed onto the idea of the gift with all the desperation filling his soul. Letty saw the lifeline, and knew it was there for both of them.

"So to honor _him_... you have to honor his gift, always... and _never_ throw it away," she told him.

"I _won't_ ," he replied immediately, his fervency making it a sacred pledge. "One hundred percent legit, from now on."

"One hundred percent legit," she agreed, liking the repeated phrase, too. She held up her right hand so they could both see the SCS tattoo on her wrist. "Straight, clean and sober. For Miguel... for Angelina... and for you and me. For each other. For the rest of our lives."

"Absolutely!" Javier pulled her in close, holding his beloved in a tight, tight hug, letting the last few tears fall on her shoulder, and at last, _her_ magic began to work on _him_ , and he finally, after all those long, tortured months, began to feel a measure of peace.

She pulled back slightly, and their lips met in a long, loving kiss, full of promises of all sorts. After several minutes, Javier broke it to look into her eyes. "I don't suppose we could..."

"No," came her instant, flat reply. "Not for two more weeks." Then her eyes twinkled. "I could..."

"No," he echoed her, and grinned for a moment before it softened again. "Until I can make love to you properly, I just want to hold you."

"Hold me," she whispered, pouring all her long lonely months of longing into the plea.

And he did, all that night, and every night thereafter.


	37. Chapter 37

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay – real life and all that._

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Seven**_

Paulo's jet was parked on the west apron of the secondary runway, near the far end away from the terminal building of the executive airport in Orlando. Javier timed their arrival for mid-afternoon, a couple of hours before the Rodriguez family were due to return. He whisked Letty and Angelina on board out of sight and introduced them to the pilot, Tony (puttering around and slowly doing preflight checks), then the two men worked in tandem to transfer the various bags of clothes and things from car to plane in record time.

Javier then got rid of his car by driving it a few blocks away, pulling up to a bus stop, and giving it to a working-class Latino man waiting for the bus, telling him in Spanish the car was his. All he wanted in return was a ride back to the airport, which was duly – and very gratefully – given. He even properly signed over the title, having gotten his money's worth from the machine.

Paulo and the kids, Maribel and Paulito, arrived in a taxi just after five, all three chattering happily about their weekend at Disney. True to form, Maribel immediately fell in love with baby Angelina, holding her tenderly as she sat next to Letty at the four-person table and playing peek-a-boo. Even Paulito, being brought up to be a gentleman, sat down across from his sister and at least pretended interest, while his father didn't feign it; Paulo loved kids, his own or other's, and welcomed Letty to the family with such warmth as she had never known in her life.

Suddenly Tony's voice came over the plane's speakers from the cockpit: "Señor! A police car is approaching, lights flashing!" A moment later, as the adults stared at each other in consternation, Tony confirmed the car was stopping in front of their jet, blocking them from leaving. A single uniformed police officer climbed out and warily approached the door, which had not yet been closed and locked, the short drop stairway still extended. Javier looked frantically at Letty, drawing breath to say something, but she was already instinctively slipping out of her seat and under the table onto the floor, pulling her hospital blanket (she had been sitting wrapped up in it, feeling perpetually cold these days) up over her head, leaving the baby in Maribel's willing – if surprised – arms. The two teens, sitting across the table from each other, both straightened up, covering the gaps between table and seats and hiding Letty completely. Nodding approval, Javier and Paulo turned in unison and stepped towards the door.

The cop was a thirty-something white male with apparently several years on the force, judging from how he handled himself. His name tag read simply "Jones". He wasted little time on niceties, jumping straight into the reason for his "visit". "We had reports of a woman and a baby boarding this plane, who match the description of a woman wanted for questioning in several states." He proceeded to give – from memory – a fairly accurate description of Letty. Javier was cursing silently; apparently they hadn't been careful enough.

Paulo had naturally taken charge. "Well, as you see, all we have is my family – and my chef, and the pilot, of course." Tony had come to stand in the cockpit doorway. Javier, patting his back pocket surreptitiously to make sure he had his new passport, took a second to appreciate how Paulo had finessed his answer: he hadn't denied Letty was onboard outright, and he had just finished welcoming her to the family.

"And the infant...?" Jones asked, peering around the men towards the table – and stopping in evident embarrassment. Paulo and Javier, naturally turning with him, had to bite the insides of their cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing and giving the game away.

Maribel, holding the newborn naturally level against her chest, had grabbed a baby blanket and draped it over her shoulder, covering it and half of Angelina, looking for all the world like she was breastfeeding the baby! Her flaming cheeks and haughty, "Ex _cuse_ me?" before turning her face away to stare at the windows only added to her _veritas: Young Unwed Mother Caught Breastfeeding by a Stranger._

And then thirteen-year-old Paulito piped up with "Hey! Don't stare at my sister's tits!" in English.

His own face turning beet-red, Jones mumbled something about their informant obviously had been wrong, turned, and made a hasty exit, nearly stumbling down the steps in his haste to escape. Paulo managed to haul up the folding ladder, shut the door and lock it before letting out the howls of laughter, joining the rest of the passengers.

Javier managed to lean over the table to peer underneath. "Are you okay, Letty?" he gasped out, but she was; wiping tears of helpless laughter from her cheeks. It was a few minutes before she was able to pull herself back out from under the table.

"I should spank _both_ of you!" Paulo got out, shaking his finger at his children.

"Oh, don't do that!" Javier jumped to their defense. "That was absolutely _perfect! Thank_ you!" And he ruffled Paulito's hair before leaning over to kiss Maribel's cheek.

"He's gone – and we have clearance for takeoff," Tony reported from the cockpit. "Permission to get out of here, Señor?"

"For god's sake, _yes!"_ Paulo replied, still chortling.

* * *

Four hours later, Javier was no longer laughing. In fact, he was distinctly near panic.

It had begun with Letty. After nursing Angelina, she had gratefully handed the baby back to Maribel. "I don't feel good," she told her husband – and she frankly looked it.

"You're pale." He was instantly concerned. He put one hand on her forehead, but she wasn't feverish.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired and a little woozy – probably from the altitude. I just want to lie down for a while." After spending the last few days since the birth mostly lying in a hotel bed, or sitting in the car, she _should_ have felt more rested.

Javier went to the last group of four seats – there were four such clusters which could be reconfigured on the fly – and with a few swift adjustments turned them into a double bed, which he insisted Letty lie down upon, bringing her a pillow and an extra blanket from a cabinet. She did so gratefully, then alarmed him further by falling asleep immediately.

Then he heard Maribel whisper something to Paulo, and his equally soft reply. "What was that?" he pounced.

"It's nothing," the older man tried to reassure him. "It's very common in newborns, and needs only a quick, easy treatment."

 _That_ wasn't going to fly without an explanation. _"What?"_

"She's just got a touch of jaundice – see, her skin looks a little yellow. But I told you, it's nothing to worry about!" Paulo glanced at Letty, sleeping a few seats away, and made an executive decision, thumbing a nearby switch for the intercom. "Tony, how far out are we?"

"Forty minutes to landing, Señor."

"Please call ahead to the tower, and tell them we need an ambulance waiting to take a mother and newborn baby to the hospital, as a precaution. Possible exhaustion and jaundice, respectively."

"Si, Señor."

Paulo turned back to his friend. "There, you see? We are taking no chances, but they will both be _fine._ "

* * *

Both Paulo's diagnoses and his predictions turned out correct. Letty had been bleeding more than she should have, and had developed a slight anemia, corrected with a blood transfusion, while Angelina merely needed a few hours in a newborn light suit to counteract her – perfectly routine – touch of jaundice. The hospital in Guayaquil kept both of them overnight just for observation, with Javier once more sleeping on a couch much too short for him, Angelina's bassinet between him and Letty's hospital bed.

The hospital stay had one unexpected benefit which neither of them had foreseen, but gladly accepted. The next morning, before the two patients were released, a nurse came in with a clipboard just as Letty began nursing her baby. "I take it this little one was born at home?" Nurse Maria asked in Spanish. Javier replied in a cautious affirmative when it was evident Letty's nascent Spanish wasn't quite up to it.

"Have you had a chance to apply for her birth certificate yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, we can take care of that right now, then!" Maria replied perkily, flashing the form on her clipboard.

Javier grinned at Letty, whispering "Birth certificate" in English, then proceeded to give all the particulars for Maria to enter in the form, with their new names, the address of the penthouse annex, and grabbing a common name at random for their fictitious midwife in attendance. He knew government officials would never check up on that. Letty, smiling, simply nursed the baby and let her husband handle it.

Thus did Angelina Ava Perez become a bona fide citizen of Ecuador from birth.

A short time later, the new family finally arrived at their new home in a taxi – Paulo had taken care of getting all the various baggage from the plane to the apartment the night before. After a quick stop in the lobby to get Nicoleta and Angelina Perez onto the list of official residents (and letting the guards on duty coo over the baby in a most un-macho way), they took the elevator up to the top floor, finding Paulo and the kids waiting in the hallway – Javier had forgotten it was a school holiday.

So he handed the baby in her carrier to Paulo, and scooped Letty up without warning into his arms to carry her laughing across the threshold.

And then refused to set her down again, giving her a complete tour of the penthouse from his arms. At last, Maribel opened the side door from the kitchen into their little apartment with a broad grin, and he carried her across their _own_ threshold – and stopped dead, mouth agape at the transformation.

Paulo and the kids had been busy: a new king-sized bed (with gorgeous bedding) had taken the place of the tiny twin bed Javier had been sleeping in, while a new crib and changing table stood ready nearby. There was even a new small round wooden table with _two_ chairs in the kitchenette.

A heartfelt round of thanks was in order – both the new parents made certain to thank each of their benefactors. Then, finally, Javier asked Maribel to turn down the bed, and at last set his wife down upon it, plumped pillows behind her back, slipped off her shoes, and tucked her in. She just grinned and let him pamper her. Then he made a nest of more pillows (there were about a dozen scattered about) beside her, and took Angelina out of her carrier and placed her gently in the nest.

And then stubbornly refused to allow Letty to get out of bed for anything other than using the bathroom or taking care of the baby for an entire solid week. He brought every meal on a bed tray, and spent every hour he wasn't cooking there beside them both, playing with the baby whenever she was awake, talking the world around, sharing memories and hopes and dreams.

Nicoleta loved every minute of it.


	38. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

 _ **A few weeks later...**_

They managed to time it perfectly for once, getting an appointment before the same judge who had administered Diego Javier's oath of citizenship, on exactly the first anniversary of their wedding in Las Vegas.

Javier and Letty, holding Angelina, were sitting on a bench outside the judge's courtroom, across the hallway from Paulo, Paulito, and Maribel, who had come to witness and celebrate. Letty freed one hand and reached across to slap Javier's hand away from his other wrist, where he had been nervously scratching his new SCS tattoo.

" _Stop_ that. _Rub_ , don't scratch," she reminded him.

Turning his head, he actually glared at her – although he did put his hand down.

"Why are you so nervous?" she asked quietly.

That got a _Duh_ eyeroll added to the glare. "I'm sitting in a courthouse, with dozens of cops around. That's one step away from prison," he nearly hissed, as quietly as he possibly could.

Letty turned her torso to give her husband a steady, level look. "You are _not_ going to prison," she reassured him. "Not now, not ever. _This_ is why." She reached across to tap the tattoo.

Javier nearly rolled his eyes out of his head, then gave a sarcastic, whispered, "Si, Señora." Then, giving her a comically mean glare, he used his other knuckles to frantically _rub_ the LLM tattoo on his left wrist.

She started to splutter, but just at that moment, the courtroom door opened, and they were beckoned inside by the judge's clerk. Maribel bobbed up and bounced across the hall as Letty stood with her daughter. "May I hold her for you?"

"Oh, I was hoping you would!" Letty beamed, and handed the baby to the teen girl, then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. "For luck!"

"Yeah," Javier agreed. "For luck!" And he leaned over to add his kiss to Maribel's other cheek, then turned towards the courtroom.

"Hmmm!" Letty huffed with mock outrage, raising her eyebrows at the blushing girl – then grinned at her.

A minute later, Letty stood in the open area before Juez (Judge) Manuel Ortiz, Javier a step behind her left shoulder, holding her hand and giving support. The Rodriguez clan – plus baby Angelina – were watching from the gallery.

Juez Ortiz shuffled the papers on his desk and looked interestedly at the pair before him. "¿Señora Nicoleta Perez? ¿Quiere hacerse ciudadano de Ecuador?" _You want to become a citizen of Ecuador?_

"Si, su señoría." _Yes, your honor._

"¿De donde eres?" _Where are you from?_

"De los Estados Unidos, su señoría." _From the United States, your honor._

Juez Ortiz's gaze turned quizzical, and he switched to fluent English. "It is unusual for someone to emigrate _out_ of the US. Spanish is not your first language then?"

Letty gave him a grateful smile. "No, your honor, I'm still learning the language. But I've been studying the citizenship information, and the oath, to make sure I understand every word."

"Well, I am not going to test you on it, like they do up north. But I _am_ going to ask you a question: Why?"

"The truth, your honor?" she asked automatically, and blushed when he said, "Preferably!" – but he was smiling, too.

"Sorry, your honor," she apologized, then paused for a moment. "Honestly, your honor, if it had been completely up to me, I doubt I would have ever left the US. And Ecuador would definitely not have even been on the list. But... women – and men – have been following their new husbands or wives to new lives in new lands since... civilization began. I'm no different." She bobbed her head sideways towards Javier and said simply, "Where he goes, I go. And he settled here. But just because it wasn't all my choice doesn't mean I'm unwilling. I'll be as good a citizen as anyone born here." This, perhaps the most honest speech she'd ever made, was delivered with such an air of direct sincerity that the judge couldn't help but be impressed.

He nodded. "Good answer. Then raise your right hand."

And thus did Nicoleta Rosa Perez became a legitimate citizen of Ecuador.

The judge then turned to the next page in his small stack. "I understand the two of you now wish to renew your wedding vows?" he asked with some perplexity – this was not a common thing in his country.

Javier took the half-step forward so he was even with Letty, still holding her other hand. "Yes, your honor," he replied, continuing in English as the judge had done. "For two reasons. First, we want to make sure that our marriage is absolutely legal and proper here, and no one will ever have a reason to tell us it isn't. And second, well..." He glanced at Letty with a half smile. "This year has been pretty rough. We were separated for part of it – and not by choice. So we want to renew our vows, and our promises to each other."

"Your rings?"

Javier held up his left hand with a rueful grimace. "Unfortunately, neither will come off now – our fingers have swollen."

Juez Ortiz laughed. "Then just touch them at that time, and pretend. If you will turn towards each other, and join hands..."

This time, both Letty and Javier would remember every word, every emotion, every moment of the ceremony for the rest of their lives. They had endured the toughest challenge they would ever face, and their love had triumphed. They knew nothing could ever have the power to threaten their marriage, their commitments to each other, ever again.

And so Diego Javier and Nicoleta Rosa Perez began their long second life together, raising their daughter into the capable, courageous, intelligent, beautiful young woman she would become; always in close association with their good friends, the Rodriguez family.

But that is an entirely different, and very long and very boring, story.

* * *

After the twin ceremonies, and all the congratulations had been given and accepted, and all the papers signed and seals affixed, Paulo and the kids took the three Perez's out for a celebratory dinner at the finest restaurant in Guayaquil. (Paulo had tried to make Javier promise not to make even any mental notes on recipes, but the professional chef couldn't resist, and came away with several ideas.) At the end, the servers brought out a special desert, supplied ahead of time by Paulo: a white cake, decorated American-style. On top, in English, in yellow, red, and blue icing (the colors of the Ecuadorean flag), was written:

CONGRATS  
MR & MRS  
100% LEGIT

.

.

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** thank you so much for reading to the end! If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review, both to pay the author, and to help others find it! Thanks again!_


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